A Normal Winter Day With "The Twins"

A few days before this adventure, we'd set off south of town to gain access to a gated community requiring a permit. This exclusive area is a mix between forest preserve and hydroelectric dams. A day hiking and exploring the area yielded some promising places to explore further. During one fun hike, we found a cave leading back some fifty feet into the mountain before ending. Various infrastructure and machinery were in the cave, for purposes unknown. About 40 feet in, we looked up at the ceiling and illuminated dozens of jostling bats, unhappy to be woken up. We departed the cave and hiked and traced for another few hours. Leaving the area, we drove back along a different route attempting to find new places to visit. Dacota spotted an overgrown dirt road leading adjacent to the river and we decided to investigate. Upon reaching the end, we found another cave! We were so excited to explore it but didn't have time. Less than an hour remained before Dacota needed to teach and we were still over thirty minutes away from the city. With a solemn vow, we made a pact to return and go cave-diving. Today was that day.

(Please note that pictures can be enlarged if clicked.)
(Also, I want to give a  big "shout out" to my awesome older brother for gifting me the camera used to capture these moments. Thank you so much!)

Cave Entrance

We walked and walked, shining flashlights around us. The cave seemed "relatively" uniform in  height and width, with jagged and jutting rock ceiling and walls, we surmised that this place was man-made . There were no bats inside and the solid thumping of our feet against compact dirt caused muffled echos. There was no outside noise or light for some time and we continued pressing. Suddenly, walking around a corner, light cascaded towards us, oval crested and bright, even though the day was heavily overcast, cold, and hinted of rain. Cave no more, this three hundred plus feet tunnel under the mountain led to somewhere, but where? Hiking along an ever narrowing path, stairs clued us into the fact this was, in fact, regularly traversed. River bank along side us, we turned right and found infrastructure (dams and cement buildings of unknown purpose) in river mouth. Small diverter canals, high up along the riverside near where we stood, were overgrown with vegetation and were delapitated, yet lead to paths beyond. Awesome! Across the river, a distant rusting sign verified that this was indeed a trail-head. So we marched on!

Dacota disapproves of our tame trail

We hiked for roughly half a mile before coming upon a path leading down into the river. "What this?!?! the end of the path?" (to be read aloud as one would proclaim a Shakespearean quotation) It can't be! We forded the river to hopefully gain some vantage to where we might continue.

Halfway across the river I remember my mission. I quickly snap a picture of where we came from. Unfortunately the path we found after tracing fifty feet in the river turned out blurry.

The embankment was the end? Not even close! We hiked along the rocky terrain, moving steadily northward. A rough path lead us forward. Eventually we came upon a clearing to discover...

First pool and waterfall come across on this trek.

Although it might appear tame, the pressure from the incoming water would make for a natural resistance pool. You could easily swim indefinitely against the current, never gaining a foothold. Near the rocks in the back of the picture, the pool was incredibly deep. If winter ever ends, this will make a great swimming hole on hot days.

Was this the end though? All that "work" for one pool? We started scouring the bank, looking for paths. Low and behold, our path continues!

Dacota ascends.

No mere path, monkeys could be heard hooting at us and jumping away. Swaying branches and trees could be seen as the resultant of a fleeing cousin. Birds chirped, bushes rustled, and the beauty of the forest remains breathtaking.

A hand to gauge the thickness of the Timber Bamboo

As can be seen, the trail continued to become narrower, obviously less traversed.

Second major waterfall come across

Emerging from the forest to this definitely makes the day worth it!

Close up of me enjoying the view

But wait, there's more. This waterfall was only an aside, a simple end for those adventurous enough to make it past the first pool. Upriver there's more and we continue, ever vigilant, ever excited.

Third Major Waterfall

After a bend, a tributary flows into the main stream, combining forces and volume that composes the first waterfall photographed. 

Dacota, once again, leading the charge

One point I have yet to mention; it is slippery as hell up here! Moss and mold covered rocks cause once "firm" (I use this term figuratively) footing to digress into a slip-n-slide. This hike isn't extreme, compared to our normal level of sketchiness, but without the ability to retain footing, it became increasingly tough. Winter has finally hit Taiwan. Fifty with the day-time high of sixty degrees Fahrenheit might sound like a "warm day" for those battling ice and snow, yet trekking through streams, hiking soaked, muddy, and cold out of a mountain, only to mount a scooter and drive 50 MPH back to the city without heat, makes the relatively "warm" winter into shivering events. Furthermore, most of you have warm houses to return to. Indoor heating doesn't exist in most family dwellings in Taiwan because it isn't needed. Inverted, this is why most people in the upper PNW are without air conditioning. Currently, we are only a few degrees warmer than the record low in Hualien. For those that shout, "So where's global warming then?", climate change results in more extreme weather patterns. Hence, colder winters, hotter summers, more precipitation, etc.

Small drip into a serene pool

I've attempted to convey the transparency of the water. Perhaps this photo will better prove my claim to the reader.

Dacota waving to the world!

At this point, no conventional trial exists. Some time before, a bifurcated setup demanded a decision. We chose left (heading upstream), making right (up the mountainside) a future adventure.

Demonstrating the bouldering action of river-tracing

 As the "man behind the camera", the man documenting our progress, my action shots are missed. I can assure my readers though, that I looked way more bad-ass climbing these boulders. If one imagines the grace of a mountain goat and my rugged good looks, then an accurate mental construction is created.

Damn You Winter Rain!!!!!!!!!

Our adventure, lasting almost four hours now, has delivered us far up-stream. As the photograph proves, we are much closer to the mountain. With that proximity however, increases the chance for rain. Mountains compress clouds, causing rain, and/or condensation to be extracted by the mountains and turned into rivers that flow towards the sea. Hence why the water is significantly warmer than glacier run-offs and why rivers flow differently depending on the season. With the steady increase in rain fall, we once again are forced to turn back. Sometime in the future, we will, once again, return to the days where we make night escapes out of the mountains, darkness threatening to over take us. Perhaps, if our escape is impossible, my emergency kit will be unpacked and tales of jungle camping will scare all who care about us. Nocturnal snakes, spiders, centipedes, caterpillars, all dangerous, venomous, poisonous, and pervasive, all to be avoided while we huddle under the safety of some make-shift shelter. With no dry wood available in the lush, wet, sub-tropic jungle, our night will remain black and cold. Until that time, days like today will continue and safety will continue to out-weigh adventure; at least as much as can be expected from us.

An Alternative Path is Found

After traveling back down river for an hour, we found evidence of a previously unexplored jungle path. We surmise that it might hook up with the path we left unexplored below. Many branches and forks excited our passion and will be explored on another day. A path lead down to the river, and we took it. Back at the river, we returned on the path we traveled up on, walked through the tunnel, and arrived back at the starting point.

The tunnel moved steadily into the mountain, on the south side though, a small path lead elsewhere. Miles away from our days climax ,the rain subsided into brief sprinkles so we decided to explore further and headed along the path, sticks beating the ground before us to frighten away potential snakes.

Making First Contact

A skeleton came into view, as if a "Planet Of the Apes" scenario toppled human-kind into its dark history.

Rusted cables dangle, unused, unnecessary, unwanted

A bridge existed here at one point in history and the rotting corpse eerily dropped off. Memories and past potential haunted the structure. Its crumbling concrete foundation, pillars, and suspension cables tell of a time of  importance; forgotten and failing, this structure reflects our corporeal fears.

An alternative vantage

So completes our tale of this day. Untold is the story of our cafe visit which sported thirteen resident cats and two dogs ready for attention. One particular himalayan, and his stereotypical grumpy face, might have been the cutest cat of all time. Untold also is the twilight hike heading up another mountain, forced to terminate because of guard dogs preparing to attack us when approaching an  "illegal" camping structure/makeshift house. During adventures, these viscous, aggressive, protective animals are to be avoided as one might a snake or bear. Further untold tales of the day include dinner, night markets, speeding adolescents attempted homicide, our homicide, my thoughts on "Understanding Media: The Extensions of Man", and so much more. Life is fantastic when it can be fully lived! 

The Soybean Juice Kerfuffle.

Today, unknown to me, I would cause a bifurcation point in someone's day. Perhaps such a claim is  arrogant of me to assume; feigning that I actually have importance upon others reality tunnel. I can conservatively state though, that I caused a moment of hilarity, embarrassment, and upset - a startled reaction that surprised me enough to write about it. We've all had such blunders, in reality or within the dream-world and, as the reporter, I thought it would make a fun story to read.


Being a white-skinned person in Taiwan usually results in attention. Whether positive or negative, looking different, causing people to gawk or stare, is certainly an experience I never expected to have while growing up in a small, mainly white, town in Oregon. Although China relentlessly reminded us that we were “different”, the feeling quickly fades upon returning to the white masses. Back in the East, I feel like a movie star. The other day, three old women insisted on taking pictures with me. So I took the pictures and departed to their gracious waves and smiles. Definitely ego boosting! If you ever feel unattractive, simply visit the East to immediately feel radiant. Perhaps I should patent the idea and, after obtaining a degree in psychology, prescribe week-long trips to remote areas of the East. 


Back to today though. A vegetarian breakfast spot recently reopened after a mysterious hiatus and we decided to checked it out. A plethora of veggie restaurants litter the city and provide ample variety of cooking methods. (I used the term "cooking methods" because the food is all Taiwanese food) Sadly though, no real “late-night” restaurant exist; this is one major downside to being in a more “rural” community. Breakfast shops abound and we are on a mission to find the best joint in town. A delicious adventure! Opening at 5 am, this shop offers an early - super early - morning option. Purchasing a breakfast sandwich and fan tuan for our hike on Thursday, we were happy enough to return to the spot. Not the best food for sure, but enough to warrant another go. Amazingly, five people work at this shop. Unless they are significantly busier early on, how they could support more than two employees baffles me. But with less than a two percent unemployment rate in Taiwan, I guess I shouldn't judge a country where almost every retailer seems over staffed. Three super old ladies, a guy, and a cute girl work there. When leaving the place yesterday, the girl looked up and I flashed her a peace gesture (index and middle finger extended while the others withdrawn inward, the palm of the hand facing out. This distinction obviously shows it isn't the European “Fuck you” sign. Perhaps I didn't need to describe this gesture, you all know my meaning. Peace signs or smiles  emanate from me like a sex crazed demon.) Lots of pretty girls smile and laugh when receiving the attention. They begin jabbering to their friends about something and pointing my way. Arrogantly, I assume it isn't, “Look at the nerve of that funny looking white guy.” From what I surmise, this, fortunately, isn't the case. This girl obviously saw the sign and bashfully looked down while smiling and playing with her hair. Ha!


Friday morning, pissing rain caused our gold panning plans to be called off. Errands needed to be ran and we decided to give the place further patronage while out and about. After ordering our food, we sat down and began eating. Coming out of the back, this girl looked shocked by our presence and hurriedly passed. Although she attempted to occupy herself, various indications clued us in that we were noticed: playing with the hair, quick glances, bashful type movements, etc. It is possible that her glances over were simply because white folks don't frequent the shop. Future events, however, would soon manumit this thought and prove that notion false.


Once our meal was finished, we looked around for a place to put our dishes and toss our napkins. There wasn't a place in sight and so I walked over to her to ask where we should put our stuff. Earlier, she began drinking a cup of soybean juice and was still sipping it when I approached.

Since her back was slightly turned, I called to her, “Excuse me Miss.” Catching me out of the corner of her eye, she twirled quickly. Pivoting amazingly fast she found herself off balance and nearly toppled over.

During this time I continued my question since only a moment had transpired. “Where should I put these?”


At this point, her head cocked slightly to the side in a quizzical expression, unable to comprehend my meaning, while still trying to gain some bearing. However, with her balance still compromised, she stumbled and fumble-fucked the cup of juice between both hands, unable to regain control. In the fumbling process, she spilled milk all over herself and floor, the straw came flying out of the drink, and, at the last possible moment, she caught herself from falling and managed to save the remnants of her drink before it completely catapulted out of her hands.

This moment came and went within a few seconds and the girl looked horrified. She immediately dropped her eyes and head, defeated.

Dramatized by stories of high school dramas, bad dreams of public nakedness, tripping in public, passing gas in public, falling while on stage, asking people out on a date and completely botching it, and making that one mistake resulting in a blunder of mammoth proportions, social pressure and conditioning causes one to be apprehensive about making blatant, ungraceful, mistakes.  Several occasions readily pop up in my mind of my own mishaps.

She quickly shuffled away to a nearby sink attempting to clean off her clothes and hands. I stooped down to retrieve the straw drowning in white juice and added it to my trash pile. Although I hadn't intended to startle her, I still felt bad about the situation. Dark skin generally hides the bright-red checks of embarrassment; however, the shocked and jerky expressions exhibited are universal. She was not happy with the public display of imperfection. Dacota attempted to ask her where to put our stuff, and it took her several takes, and gestures, for her to regain enough composure to point towards the trash can and wash sink around the corner. She mumbled her response and wouldn't make eye contact.


Mounting the scooter and taking off, I once again flashed her a peace sign, causing her to smile, look down, and once again start play with her hair. With luck, this simple gesture will cause this “moment of upset” to be forgotten or, better yet, laughed at when recited to friends.

Thank "God" We Weren't Offered M&M's !

Taiwan, thus far, has exhibited immense ecological diversity, lush terrain, staggeringly complex geologic formations, jutting mountains, unique blue rivers, a prominent aboriginal culture, and much, much more. Although Hualien is famed for its striking beauty, the town described in my second post seemed to parallel the sub-tropic wonderland. A little over an hour scooter ride from Hualian is an area renowned for its beauty; supposedly Taroko is one of, or solely, the most beautiful spot in Taiwan. It is a tourist hotspot and must only be visited on the weekdays, in my opinion, to bypass the hordes of amateur photographers and families. There isn't a way it could be vastly different, or so I told myself. Unimaginable to some, it turns out I was mistaken. In my month and a half in Taiwan, we've spent entirely too much time in less toured areas and sought experiences never hinted at in a guidebook. But rumors of a hot-spring brought us to the decision to seek them out. So, with a cold-front still bringing rain and frigid conditions, we set off at seven thirty in the morning towards the springs. The sub-tropic landscape continued to increase in wonderful geologic landscapes and majestic sites. Not that our previous explorations weren't comparable in radiance but this region is brimming with jaw-dropping scenery. Our day of surveying demands further exploration -- and often. So this post is a guaranteed foreshadow of many more tales to come.

Standing off the road about halfway between the mountain peak and river far below

Although a Thursday, and cold as Hell, tour buses still passed us but were sparsely populated. It seems that this was an optimal time to explore. A few stops to take pictures of the majestic setting, all failed to even remotely capture the complexity of the scene, we arrived at the hot-spring's trail-head. The river far below might have proved challenging to get to if not for the consider “built up” path. Stairs, made from stone and wood, created an easy walk down. Two interesting things to note about our descent. First is that part of the path goes through a hillside where a gate is situated to be closed by town officials during typhoons. Apparently they didn't want people dying down there. If this gate had been shut, there wouldn't really be an option to continue since the path edge was a sheer drop off. The gate appeared effective for, unless it was open, the area would be sealed off. Thus begs the questions (idiomatically, not philosophically), is the lock pickable, besides for repelling down the face of the cliff-side, is there another option down, and what if we were stuck down there. The barrier basically dares us to attempt such feats. The second noteworthy mention is the suspection bridge that gaps the gulf and allows a person to cross the river and finish the descent to the hot-spring. Although massive metal cables secured either side, it swayed under foot and was a fairly novel experience. They are quite common in the area (including one that seemed sketchy as hell during the later hikes of the day which won't be described) and are fantastic. You truly feel the expanse of the gulf at the center inflection point. Across this bridge, some 100 feet above the river, one could look down onto the pools below.

The sharp stairwell cut into the hillside caused us to stoop and hold onto the guard rail on the west side. This is the only guard rail outside of a public park that I've seen in Taiwan. To illuminate this point, at one precarious point on another hike there existed only a loose chain hanging from loose concrete anchors which are set into the stone face.  Anyway, the walk down was quick and easy and we arrived to find constructed pools yet they were utterly dry. A sign warned against dangerous water and we walked over to peer over the edge where some five feet down were the pools sighted when crossing the bridge.

 Chronologically this picture is obviously taken after our initial inception.

The river raged and small pools were created by stone walls retaining the sulfur water which pored out of a small chase. After subsequent inspection, it appeared that the water's source naturally from vents under the close hill and that the seemingly constructed chase was due to the built-up dry pools locate in the previous detailed area under the rocky overhang.

Two older people bathed in the pools and we donned on swim trunks and climbed over the guard rail, against the warning, down the sharp embankment, and arrived at current river level. Five small pools were constructed, the first retaining the water directly from the vent and then gravity fed and distributed the water to the other pools. Our freezing bodies, especially feet, from the scooter ride ignited in pain was we tested the waters. The old folks were not laying in the pool but rather dishing bowls of water over themselves, and we quickly understood why; the heated sulfur water was hot! The river flowed southward and the old man recommended we take up the north-most pool, which had a small stream of cold running into it and was also the largest pool, oval and roughly 6x4 feet. Unlike the four feet deep hot-springs we previously visited, and are described in previous posts, these pools were around a foot deep. As Dacota eased himself into the north-most pool I channeled more of the cold water from the swift moving river into the pool to make it bearable. Twenty minutes of easing myself into the pool and it was perfect. The old folks questioned Dacota for a minute and then we soaked in peace. After an hour and a half the old folks left and were replaced by a group of four people who immediately submersed themselves into the cold river. They were obviously pretty intense and we would soon discover more information about them. As the turn of events go though, some time after their arrival a solo man, short, dark-skinned, and squat framed with backpack, shorts, but no shoes, climbed down the cement wall drop-off and looked around. By this time our pool had become perfectly regulated and after a few minutes speaking with the other people, he came over and asked if he could sit by us. Inviting him in, he put his feet into the water and a conversation arose between Dacota and him. It turns out this youthful looking man was in his mid-thirties, had grown up in Taroko, was a member of one of the aboriginal families, spoke the native tongue, and worked in Taroko but lived in another town. We asked questions to the best of our ability and he attempted to answer them in ways that would be understood. Chinese isn't additive like English, ie. Doghouse isn't the character for dog and the character for house but is an alternative word with its own semi-unique character combination. Because of this and because there are so many words for a single given item, communication can be difficult at times, to say the least. From what we gathered, aboriginal Taiwanese inhabitants traversed the mountains to settle in this previously remote region. By climbing along the spines of the mountains, they eventually made it down in the small valley known today as Taroko. It was difficult to decipher if these were the true original inhabitants or if they simply expanded the culture found there. Either way it was only three hundred plus years ago which seemed odd to me because of the unique language found and because the Dutch had already landed/visited the Portuguese named island of Formosa. Until around a hundred years ago, the area was pretty isolated. With increased access came missionaries and profiteers to convert and destroy the native population, and so they did. Recently, by a very progressive stance by the education board of Taiwan, it became acceptable to learn and use the native tongues in school as a way of preserving the remnant original culture. They are also afforded a different set of laws including the right to own a gun, which is forbidden to every one else outside the military. The language though doesn't use the Chinese character system (were the historic people illiterate?) and only through modern use of the Romanized system of Pinyin was their language put into some kind of formality. There was obviously significantly more dialog going on but for the sake of the story some parts have been omitted. After exchanging contact information, he invited us to visit him at his house in Yu Li, which is fortunate because there are hot-springs near there and it is always optimal to have someone local to contact if something unfortunate happens. Off he departed for work and we continued to work on digging out the pool, now almost two feet deep!

I departed momentarily for a snack and returned to find Dacota, once again, in conversation, now with two members of the group who'd been there for a few hours now. These gentlemen were from Yi Lan which also has nearby hot-springs. They mentioned that the reason they enjoy this spring is because it was free and natural. Illuminating this point was the difficulty in conversing because of the roaring river beside us.

Although they did not have the local history under their belt, they were interesting and generously offering us bread, fruit, and tea. Because they were worked for a tour group in Yi Lan they offered to take us around and show us the sites for free. The two other people who stuck to themselves were from Hualien and only a briefly introduced themselves before leaving. From what they said, they hot-spring in Taroko almost every day and we are bound to meet them and have prolonged conversations with them in the future. 


More dialog between the two co-workers/friends  and we, for the second time that day, exchanged contact information with the nice people. Three new contacts in a single day. Wow! I feel popular. Suddenly, a slew of white tourists peered over the edge. Dacota called up to guide, “Hey, are you Matt?” , and sure as shit he was. Although they'd never met personally, they both have mutual friends, knew of each other, and simply hadn't met yet. As they talked, the group clambered down and took up residence in our pool. Again, this pools was the only one no longer scalding and was also significantly deeper than the others because of our excavation work. There were three men and a women. The two guys from Chicago were traveling together and the man and women were from L.A. and came for a wedding, she was of Taiwanese descent. Although these folks were significantly different than me, our conversation seemed adequate enough. One of the guys, from Chicago, happened to be a union electrician and we talked shop for a minute. I'm always amazed at how hard it is to make small-talk. Basically our conversation consisted of the job summery, purpose for the trip, big news events, the weather, and various anecdotes, nothing noteworthy. It was however, my first time speaking with people who were vacationing here like me. For, what was supposed to be a solo day exploring and relaxing in the hot-spring, it turned into a packed day full of people and conversation. Who knew that our small pool, which we made curtailed to meet our satisfaction, would house up to eight people at one time and generate a social hotspot; it's weird how the world works.


After some seven hours in the hot-springs we decided to do some hiking. Our hike was beautiful and lasted until night which fell fast and dark. As we scootered out of the gorge, the ambient temperature gradually increased. A delicious meal awaited us and we sped hungrily back towards town.

(... continued) -- Ropes... Yes please.

This post is a continuation of the previous post: "Filming An Episode Of "Lost"?
 
This river is quite fun and easy to trace for a leisurely adventure but certain ominous paths remain undiscovered or mysterious and uncharted. One of these so called paths was noticed on our last trip to this particular river some week previous. It heads steeply up the side a heavily forested hill and gives off the faint whispers of an aboriginal path. As the rain continued its incessant drippings, we climbed and climbed. The follow pictures are culled from dozens attempting to demonstrate the awesome (using the dictionary definition of the word) short adventure undertaken.

(If people find this style of story-telling more provocative, more engaging, or simply more fun then the didactic lengthy stories of previous posts, then please let me know (via email, fb, etc.) and I will attempt such structure in future narratives. After perusing a plethora of travel blogs, this technique of engagement  seems most common. Perhaps to avoid pompous posts like the ones previous? )

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Behind Dacota's right shoulder is the entrance to this treacherous path. A foot at the very widest point,  we carefully began our ascent.

You can see the obvious beginning of the path behind me. Doesn't look too bad right? This is about a minute into the hike. After this point, as you will see, it becomes ever more cryptic. 

I chose to add this picture to demonstrate the phenomenon of mother-logs that are still alive. Although this picture demonstrates this assertion, floating plants in Taiwan are common and magnificent. Full-grown ferns, and other tropical variants, can be observed nestled in the fork of a tree branch far into the canopy, literally living and floating above you. 

 Progress! Many adventures sought have ended in failure. Hunting/aboriginal paths that were deteriorated beyond recognition, animal paths that lead no where, run-offs that appears to be trails yet were not, etc. It is a crap-shoot. Unless a path is regularly traversed, it risks being lost or swallowed up by the jungle.  Imagine grueling, slippery hiking/climbing, raising eight hundred plus feet, near bush-wacking conditions, to discover a dead end. Its a bummer. And that is a small climb; try 800 meters. Now we are talking! The hunt is on. The risks are high and you can come away sweaty, muddy, with aching knees and bruises from falls with a story of glory or another scrapped tale. Today though promised success! This isn't an abandoned trail we are hiking but rather a path developed enough to warrant old, rotting, mossy, muddy, spliced, fraying ropes to assist in otherwise perilous climbs. Here is Dacota beginning our first climb of the day.

And here he is again. Can you see him up there? Look for his red backpack in the center of the frame. Now its my turn!

..

During our climb we hear rustling in the trees, a squawk here and some clicking over there. More rustling. The buzzing of insects, the sight of leaves swaying under the impact of dropping rain, the sound of rocks sliding down the hillside as we walk along the barely perceptible path, the animal life just beyond the bend. The smell of feces, decaying rotting wood, bright fragrances of flowers, fog, mud, sweat. Yes. This is life in the jungle. Clicking / hooting in the nearby trees caused us to sway backwards as our heads snapped acumen gazes into the canopy. Spotting three big monkeys jumping away from us I fumbled for my camera and failed to capture a clear picture of our distant cousins. We continued and, once again, my documenting powers were stifled by blurry shots or shots with a mud smeared lens. Two other rope situations, one tied around a tree base and the other precariously tied around gnarled tree roots allowed our continued "safe" progress. We were climbing towards something.

Our surmising was correctly guessed; this path is used by hunters/possibly aboriginals and the verified proof is displayed for you. In this area, the stench of animal feces is strong. We do not hear anything besides the occasional bird call and the pattering of rain. 

An action shot of Dacota continuing on the trail. 

Up he goes into the clearing. 

This is where our tale ends for the day, but not forever. The path continued yet because of the increase in rainfall, the opening of the forest into the relative clearing pictured, the hazardous conditions increased to stupidly unsafe slippery footing. We decided to turn back and return on a "better" day.  I know my mom is thinking, "Progress!" Where will our future efforts take us? Possibly to the over the the other side of the mountain where another river runs? Having surveyed a few hours up another, shallower, river, in another valley we surmised that it is possible to bridge the mountain if one only put in the effort. Is this said bridge? Oh how the anticipation of discovery catalyses joy.

Here is me, the writer, the construction worker, the son/brother, the student of life, the dreamer, the hero and protagonist of my own drama, gazing towards the heavens, red stained lips and saliva from the constant betel nut boosts. How would the voyage have transpired without this aid? Certain failure.

Filming An Episode of "Lost"?

I know, I know; enough stories about river-tracing already. Hiking upstream, bouldering, playing in the water, is that all I do? Isn't it boring yet? “Get a life,” exclaims the proposed advice spoken under the reader's breath. Wednesday though offered tracing with benefits. To be fair, the hike we accomplished is as close to river-tracing as humanity is to ontological completeness . The river eventually becomes a beast to tackle but our destiny was elsewhere this day.


Wouldn't it be cool if our adventures warranted a camera crew? As if we were needed to help pack gear and supplies from the trail-head to a remote spot where a scene could be documented. Well, today we experienced this... kinda. Departing the country with a bang, an ex-coworker of Dacota's, that he owed a favor to, is shooting the second out of three parts of his self written, acted and directed independent film. If plans go accordingly, it will be shot in three foreign countries, with Taiwan playing some pivotal role. A group of eight former film students, now working free-lancers, embarked and arrived in Taiwan days before and are spending almost every moment in active pursuit of completing this goal. A brisk morning accompanied us as a linger cold front brought rain and fog into the valley. Arriving just past seven, the crew was already present and busy orchestrating the scene to be filmed at the inception point. This isn't my first dog and pony show when it comes the film world and, as I expected, our timeliness was unnecessary. The majority of the gear for filming was currently being used and, after brief introductions, we sat around watching people work. Eventually I convinced the coordinator to let us take a trip up river and deposit any supplies that weren't currently needed. Like pack mules, we loaded up and hiked to the days main attraction, a degrading lookout/bunker overlooking a lovely recombination point of the stream from the two arteries it splits into while circumventing a rock bar. At our pace, the lookout is some twenty minutes into a hike/trace, yet if you aren't us it takes roughly an hour to reach. This number isn't just thrown out lightly. This group scouted this area previously taking an hour to do so and seemed miffed when we arrived forty minutes later looking for more tasks. The day was supposed to represent a summer scene (I think) and so the actors, garbed in cloths suitable for summer, chillingly acted out the scene, with frequent stops to wipe off wet gear, clothes, props, etc. Unless I am actively participating I bore easily, so Dacota and I hacked at a location we assumed was off-screen, until yelling voiced hailed us to "get out of the frame." Oops. So we sat around again and watched the scene play out, over and over again. During times the scene reset, we hacked more in the parking lot, to what I believe were admonitory glances our way from the crew. The scene finally ended, they packed up gear, and we took some of the burden as the voluntary mules of the group. Fortunately the camera men carried their own gear because it looked heavy! As if we were the Sherpa of the river, Dacota led the way and I assisted people during the various river crossings and up slippery embankments. Combined with our shortcuts, the party arrived around fifty minutes later without injury. Gear delivered, and no other  immediate tasks needing our assistance, we took off upriver to fend for ourselves. And fend we did!

The following post titled "Ropes... Yes please." will contain the story of the bifurcated day.

We returned to the setting after our endeavor and asked if they needed additional help; they did not except to return a bag of supplies to the vehicle. Twenty minutes later, scene acted out over and over, takes scrutinized for detail, our pressing need to depart arrived. It was time to go to work; time to be productive. So we mobbed down the river arriving at our scooter in twenty minutes. Flying down the highway, our soaked clothes encapsulating us in metaphoric icicles, we searched for a quick warm meal of peanut noodles before heading home. Donned with warm, dry clothes it was time to begin the days work.

Maturity Jump: Level 2 - Musings and Public Declarations of "The Unthinkable"

I have once again fallen in love with a mother. Contrary to my claims of desired freedom, desired population reduction, desired sterility, another female has come into my life with baggage. My initiation into adult relationships came in the form of a beautiful, intelligent, patient women who also happened have a child. Our time together was brief yet complete. Her son, smart and funny, brimmed with ambition. Memories of them are almost entirely positive and I wish them both the best. That was the past though; I was young, knowledgeable of myself but naïve in worldly ways.

Out of the blue, in a foreign country, surround by beautiful, unattached, childless females, I once again fall towards a complicated situation. It is commonly expressed that pregnant or nursing females are seductive, shining with unique energy, shining with “mother's love”. As if she is aware that only her gender is truly necessary in the continuation of the species. Male domination, male chauvinism, is perhaps the last desperate attempt for us males to convince ourselves we possess a purpose besides simply providing partial genetic material. Androgynous women, the next evolutionary leap, will severe the onerous rearing of an ineffectual gender. At this point, cultural maturity might flourish into existence.

Smitten, intoxicated, obsessed, I peer out my window in anticipation. Living across the back alley, I pray for a glimpse of her. For brief moments, the waiting becomes entirely worthwhile and I can see her gorgeous, slender, imperfect, yet, paradoxically, perfect self. To hold her in my arms and kiss her forehead, to have her sleep beside me on cold nights, and to experience life together, what more could a man desire? Occasional I can hear her children crying, calling, playing, voicing their feelings and hopes. I lay awake at night listening to these sounds. Sounds which I might have previously claimed abhorrence of; now bring joy to my heart and yearnings of involvement. Babies cries, the wailing, the incessant noise, I never understood the music before. Maturity of mind has morphed those sounds into sweet sirens of heaven. What sorceress bewitched me, what has come over me?

Obsession has infected me, in the most parasitic manner. If you can believe, I wait and watch, through the male invented instrument known as binoculars. Through magnified vision, I feel virtually teleported, participating in complex scenarios, as if my presence is natural. Where might I find the absent father? How could he give up this gift, this unique time of support, this time where our gender might actually be useful besides the momentary time involved in the copulation ritual? The question now becomes how I might step up to the challenge. Inexperience alone should not stop my strive, I need to convince her that I am here to stay and ready to excel.

She is wary of me. Is it because I am a foreigner? When I attempt conversation I am stared at, when I approach she recedes, when I try to help with the children she yells, they yell, and I pull away. If only I could express my admiration for her and offer assistance. If only... So I continue to gaze out my window through binocular instrumentation, longing for their comfort -- longing to be close. Such is the plight of falling in love.

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The anointed day - the second Cardinal Sin - the feast

Today, families gather together in disparate levels of joy over the Thanksgiving day feast. A rotating globe displaces Taiwan into the future, where Thanksgiving has already come and gone. Celebrating in the most American fashion, Dacota and I enjoyed ourselves immensely.

I know what you are thinking; just because we are the white people amongst dark-skinned inhabitants doesn't make our Thanksgiving more authentic. In fact, it certainly does! You might also wonder how we obtained small-pox infected blankets to ignorantly gift/trade away? We didn't -- regrettably. :-(


As products of the American educational system and American cultural indoctrination, it is amazing that some consider this day-of-thanks as some kind of communion between the natives and immigrants. A day where the natives happily contributed to a Puritan feast and both sides ate in peace and equality. Throughout my youth this narrative didn't seem accurate, especially when reading history books detailing the obliteration of native populations. My intuition proved accurate; the history of the day and era is ghastly. As a youth, I played along obediently because it is easier to participate in events than to protest and demand truthful answers. Fortunately, my folks celebrated this day differently than other families and used it as an excuse to remember all that one is thankful for. We would go around discussing and expressing our gratitude for things and events that transpired the previous year and invoke positive affirmations in an effort to grow in desired traits and qualities.


Perhaps accurate accounts of historic events should be taught to our children. Not to harp on mistakes of the past but to own up to the atrocities committed. The flat-out lies told to school children are analogous to something as odious as instructing them that black slaves volunteered to come work in America. That the slavers didn't purchase them from tribes or abduct them outright but instead they came across the ocean volunteering in a manner similar to WWOOLFing. It simply doesn't teach the lessons of growth and progress that people should all to be thankful for. Celebrating the harvest, celebrating the connection to one's family, and celebrating a time of abundance in this age of enormous prosperity, in my opinion, wouldn't be ruined by accurately reflecting on how native populations have been destroyed throughout the times of colonization and forced indoctrination. Living in a first/third world country sadly reflects the unlearned lessons of imperial domination. Missionaries abound and with them the arrogance of righteousness. With these lessons omitted from public education and public dialog, such disrespect and violence will continue indefinitely.

 

Conforming to modern Thanksgiving customs, without access to a Turkey, we did the next best thing; ate as much as we could – gluttony at its finest. A delicious all-you-can-eat vegetarian restaurant transformed the traditional American experience of yams, potatos, stuffing, turkey, ham, cranberries, etc. into orange encrusted lotus root, wasabi and sesame glazed okra, yam leaves with wolfberries and mushrooms, deep fried parsnips, seared green beans in black pepper sauce, spicy eggplant, curried cauliflower, soup so stinky with fermentation that dogs would turn away, T.C.M. soup with greens, numerous dumplings of sweet and/or savory variety, and more. Much, much more. Leaving the restaurant in a dazed fashion, pain swelling in my stomach like an alien about to burst through, we successfully conquered the feast. We made 'Murica proud!

G.I. Joe circa 1955

One frame taken from a short video clip captured by Irina

Before tonight, I had thus far avoided the bars in Taiwan. They have never been my scene (state-side or abroad) and I do not find these establishments enjoyable. Obnoxious drunks, loud irritating music, expensive booze, the cultural imprinting that suggests this is the environment suitable to meet new people, the inability to have conversation because of the noise volume (although I will acquiesce and say that there exists certain bars where conversations could take place), basically the whole deal. I also find the hypocrisy of our cultural obsession with one particular drug to be offensive. Legislation against certain chemicals resulting in the imprisonment of thousands based on some “moral” (historically racist) premise is abhorrent. Simply going to these noisy, crowded, drug saturated establishments puts me on edge. People should be allowed to have responsible fun; I hope those who enjoy their time drinking away internal organs are setting a positive example.


Meeting a friend at a tea-house catalyzed the decision and subsequent action to see a live show at a bar. This decision instigated the introduction to a slew of foreigners working in Hualien. The night was exceptionally beautiful, warm, humid, stars shining, moon cut perfectly in half and gleaming wickedly, and the scent I attribute to Asia on the night's subtle breeze. The tea-house we visited was elegant, a place where you'd take a date or your visiting parents. In fact, that is how the Australian we met up with discovered the place. Most of the restaurants I visit on a daily basis are homely, good on the stomach and wallet, yet probably lack what some might call “ambiance” and I call “uncomfortable/stuffy”. I have to admit though, this fancy tea-house served delicious drinks and the sweet kumquat tea I drank was magical. A mile or two separated the establishments and we walked and talked, enjoying the night. Perhaps the most important thing I learned about Australia this night was that there exists spiders that run after you or swim and attack you from pools of water. There are dangers everywhere including poisonous, stinging plants using neurotoxic compounds; basically our conversation validated, if not exacerbated, my “Australia-phobia”. You will indeed be pulverized by 7ft tall kangaroos, bit by venomous brown snakes that look like sticks, and, worse and scariest thing of all, be subjected to the accent.


To expedite the story and, at other times, to protect the anonymity of persons, certain events will be casually overlooked. Thus far, all events portrayed in these blog posts have been extremely accurate and will continue to be unless disclaimed otherwise. As a subjective reporter attempting to remain objective, I felt the need to interject the above sentences to remain credible.


This bar could have looked like any in Portland. Various potted plant, hedges, and tables separated the entrance from the sidewalk. As expected, the density of people inside the place was indeed over-saturated. Every table, stool, nook and cranny seemed populated. The room was surprisingly small for a venue hall with the stage in the center of the room against the wall; the built stage was around a foot in height, perhaps 8'x12'. The center of the room was noticeable upon the very inception of entering the bar for white and black skin amassed. Flanking them, folks of Asian decent populated tables and walls. Foreigners from diverse countries and ages interacted with each other with familiar joviality. Most, if not all, of the people I met taught at the various English immersions school of the city.


A ska band from Taipei was performing that evening and they turned out to be quite talented and enjoyable to watch, even though I do not generally enjoy listening to the genre. Frankly the most enjoyable part of the performance remained internal. The music and the scene reminded me of the conversations I had with both of my grandfather's about their foreign travels. The brass, drums, and tuxedos transported me to the 1950's while on tour in the “orient”. My maternal grandfather served in USAF during the Korean War and visited “Formosa” (as he calls it) in the early fifties and my paternal grandfather served overseas in the Korean and Vietnam War and also consulted and traveled overseas after retiring from the Coast Guard. Having recently conversed with my maternal grandfather and listened to his life stories, his escapades in visited countries, and his youth spent in the service of politicians and bureaucrats, these events were within minds-eye. Although he wasn't physically present to share this experience, the internal bond of understanding grew ever taunt.


As the music played and alcohol consumption increased amongst foreigners, the tapping feet and head bobbing metastasized into full on boogieing. One or two old white guys, inebriated from the get go, danced throughout the show while the rest of us convulsed in spastic anti-rhythem with increasing fervor. The point of climax, where every foreigner danced, and some Taiwanese even bobbed their heads in enthusiasm, was when Tutti Frutti by Little Richard began. It was pretty surreal to be dancing away to a 1955 song that quite possibly set a new path for Rock and Roll as a genre. Our small group were the only ones dancing. It seems that dancing is uncommon (at a live show?) for the locals. People all seemed to be enjoying themselves, the music, and, probably, were entertained by watching us do our thing. It would be disconcerting for a band originating from the U.S. to play a show where nobody outwardly displayed signs of enjoyment. Dacota had the opportunity to ask the lead singer of the group about this and he replied, “You know it is a good show in Taiwan if nobody leaves the bar when you are playing.” I can see the logic in this but at the time, ignorant of this information, it seemed strange that the people, already prone to stand out, were the only ones dancing resulting in exacerbating the cultural divide by cutting loose and raising the roof.


Afterwards, we struck up conversation with two very nice people and discussed an assortment of topic.


Repeatedly called to join the “after party” of which migrated from an alternative bar to a popular bluff, we departed the bar and interesting company in search of the fabled spot. The clock shone past two when we finally found the destined location. By the time we arrived, only three people remained. Talking for a few additional hours, the time passed and sleep beckoned. We decided to forgo waiting for dawn and the sunrise in order to get some sleep. Another river-trace was already on the schedule and our plan to head out by seven was delayed until nine. Not sustainable but surprisingly fun, this night seemed worthy of an honorable mention in this blog.


This opportunity allowed me to meet people from Ghana, South Africa, Australia, Canada, Russia, Moldova, USA, Taiwan, and possibly elsewhere. Perhaps future communication with these folks will result in greater worldly understanding and alternative perspectives on customs, philosophy, political and economic systems, views of America, important literature that I might be ignorant of, and the geographic location and topology of the landscape. I honestly had to look up the location of Moldova. To be fair though, I didn't obtain my university degree in Geography. (For the Geography majors out there, this joke DOESN'T EVER, EVER get old.)

We finally found a "friend"

Simple hikes have turned into zoological expeditions. Mammalian brain, deciphering the world and the complex landscapes, hope to see anything that moves; our eyes are continuously darting, ever vigilant, ever ready. With snakes, primates, cats, birds, insects, spiders, and mushrooms on the forefront of our minds, both tree tops and forest bottoms need to be observed simultaneously. If only there existed a way for me to both watch my footing and search the trees and terrain for beautiful creatures, I would be an optimized unstoppable force. Perhaps science will develop a technique which will implant additional eyes and alter neurological functions to allow multiple optical surveillance, Hurry up already! I only have another eight months in Taiwan. Exceptionally cool plants and geologic formations already cause me to rubber neck, yet this additional searching is exciting and sometimes rewarding. Perhaps eight monkeys have been seen this past week swinging and running in the canopies above. Pictures have been taken and time has been spent watching these magnificent, distant cousins go about their intricate lives. This post is not about these primates however, it is about something we have longed and feared to see.

On Saturday, sun shone intermittently through passing clouds and we set off to river-trace. Various stops were made in search of some hidden paths or new experiences on our way to the river. We discovered some possibilities yet decided to continue our trace even though it was a river we'd traced before. With new potential sources of adventures, exploring would require alternative gear. The river we were destined towards is famous in the area for its beauty and is regularly traced by adventure groups providing the opportunity for visitors to experience the majestic rock formations and crystal water. We consider this area our backyard and quickly put distance between us and the kick-off point. At one spot, Dacota taking his normal large strides and me hurrying along attempting to keep up, I looked down and noticed something unique. A green snake lay coiled on the flat of a rock, a rock Dacota had just stepped across. He'd stepped over our friend without noticing it-- I fortunately did. Soaking up the rays, coiled and beautiful, was our first venomous snake of the journey. Easily identified as the Bamboo Viper, this beauty is the most common poisonous snake in Taiwan and the only one not legally protected. There are at least three different types of green tree snakes, two out of three are harmless. The description in the following link about the species will divulge the bit of local knowledge. “Look for the red tail,” is what we were told and indeed this one not only had a red tail but also triangular head and red eyes.


http://www.snakesoftaiwan.com/Viridovipera%20stejnegeri/species_viridovipera_stejnegeri.htm


Due to its nocturnal schedule, this little one only wanted to enjoy itself in the sun and wasn't bothered by our presence in the slightest. We climbed for a bit more, continuing to look around for additional “friends” yet didn't find any. Although Taiwan has a diverse group of snakes, this is the first one I’ve seen and feel privileged for the opportunity. Let's hope that a Sea Krait doesn't take an interest in us when swimming along the coast or for a Tiger Snake to introduce itself while wonder why these ill-prepared foreigners are trudging through the mountainous underbrush. Fortunately, since the majority of our hiking is at high elevations, most mountain snakes are non-venomous. Although,the initial ascent, from 0 – 1000 feet above sea-level offers a variety of venomous snakes which could end our expedition rather abruptly. We'll have to be more cautious in the summer-time during the height of the breeding season; until then, while trudging through the underbrush and overgrown paths on our adventures, rice slippers and shorts will continue to compose our attire.

A New Sport Is Born – Off-Road Scootering

The brilliant autumn sun awoke me earlier than my preset alarm. Hot springs were on the menu today. Located in a protected park, and the closest springs to our home (some 40 minutes away), our adventure began after picking up a few Fan Tuan. Expecting this to be an easy day-hike, we forewent our purchase of betel nut. Perhaps vanity alone will keep me from consuming this tasty and useful drug. Although sun shone through early morning fog and low clouds, the temperature was uncomfortably cold and we sped along the highway wearing sweatshirts and rain jackets to cut the wind-chill. The mountains destined for are located southwest of Hualien and is the farthest south I've ever been thus far in my life, not only in Taiwan but also in the world. As is ever become typical of life in Taiwan, mountains covered in subtropic jungle jutted out of the ground in rapid accent creating poetic landscapes of lucid beauty.


Perhaps the constant description of Taiwan's environment is boring to the reader. Through repetition, I hope that I might be able to bring the reader slightly closer to true complexity of the diversity. If the reader is familiar to the PNW and its temperate rainforest, tree, plant, shrub, and mycology diversity, then perhaps the stretch of imagination and written description need just be skewed familiar species, temperature, soil, etc. To say that this lush alien subtropic world is more beautiful than the PNW is false; however, it stimulates my curiosity and imagination as much as, say, an individual from the Middle East being transported into the Mt. Hood or Olympic National Forests. The geology and biology upon this wonderful spinning globe is surreal.


Our drive through various small towns, including one where we had to circumvent the main road due to some family function closing off the street. All our trekking eventually landed us at the correct gate entrance. Tour bus' and vans cluttering the tiny parking lot. A quick conversation about permitting caused us to drive back to the closest town and attempt to persuade the police department to issue us a permit. Due to the limited amount of humans allowed in the protected wildness in a given day, we were declined and our plans of hot spring pleasure abruptly shit upon. Respecting the reason for visitor limitations, we decided not to jump the fence. Determined to not have our day ruined, we set off towards another destination, Wind Mountain.


The map, pulled up on an ipod touch, left details to be desired. Like, pretty much all of them. We knew that this place existed and that's about it. Driving in some general direction of the place, we took a few turns off the main road and ended up at a park of sorts. Thinking that a trail might exist to get us to our destination, we paid the two dollar entrance fee and headed in. Looking more like a garden, we walked around until finding the Visitor's Center. Delighted to see us, the staff changed the introduction/description video made for guests from Chinese to English and we watched the video, having no idea where we were, the function of the place, or if it would lead us to our mountain. As it turns out, this tourist attraction was a protected forest area by the forestry department and a living monument for the events that took place on the land. Spanning hundreds of hectares, the mountains around us were heavily logged only 30 years previous. The video detailed the train systems employed, the vast hoisting mechanisms with overhead cables that carried ancient trees off the mountains, and the (horrible) re-forestation efforts taken. Only logged for five years, the devastation to the land could be viewed to this day. The video showed that these small trains capable of carrying 40 tons (with a 50 hp engine!) traveled across the scariest bridges one could image, wooden and shaky over huge ravines, and the cable systems running hundreds of feet above the valleys, carrying huge beautiful trees for lumber. The replanting effort was a basic mono-crop and grid system which could be viewed from the lookouts that littered the hillside of the park. A very pro-government, “we did a great job”, attitude was prevalent throughout the video, obviously hoping that the viewer wasn't capable of seeing through the guise. Another key point, which I will return to later in this post, is that the tree industry catapulted Taiwan's economy into is first boom of the modern era. Just another country to exploit and destroying national resources, irreplaceable systems, to expand wealth and power. Compounding this recent exploitation, if one only reads the history of Taiwan s/he will be amazed at the similarity between it and every other colonized country. Kill off or convert the savage aboriginals, exploit the resources using slave labor, and continue to the next victim. No matter how different it feels to be in this new world, the history is the same. It is sadly the same.


We walked around the park, up hillsides to various lookouts, capturing pictures of frogs and plants, and realizing that there were no paths leading to our mountain, we circled around to the Visitor's Center to request directions. Three older women, all arguing about how we might continue, all giving different accounts and different directions and were of very little help, although they were sweet. We left still destined to find the mountain. I am happy though that we stopped. It was a great hour and half detour, to learn some new information, look at huge trains and transportation equipment, and financially support a forest reserve.


Once more, driving goal-ward, we stopped and solicited directions a few more times, each response different from the last, and not just because our relative position was changing. Our circling took us to flooded out roads and farmer's fields. Amazing. When a road gets flooded out, people just drive across it, usually in a 4x4. One stop for directions gave us the notion that there would be a waterfall along the way and so we began anew moving rapidly along the single lane road (what would be done if two vehicles intersected?) we crossed river after river on pitted and dilapidated bridges, viewing water-holes, rapids, man-made waterfall systems, and finally we came to a waterfall. We stopped and took pictures. It was a lovely fall with viewable shimmering cliff face and over hanging trees and vines. I wouldn't say that I am acclimating to waterfalls, but rather the sheer volume of these magnificent phenomena are spoiling me. What will happen to me when the closest fall is Multnomah Falls?!


By this time, the road had turned to dirt, gravel, and rock. The road continued up the mountain after the waterfall in ever increase slope. Up and up we went, engine whining in protest, unguarded perilous cliff drop-offs, wash outs, rock slides, trenches, mud, etc. A 4x4 lifted truck would have been extremely useful. Our scooter though, slowly charged up switchback after dirt switchback. At one point we were almost run off the road, and literally had to pull the scooter into a fortuitous grassy patch that so happened to have been there instead of a wall or drop-off. Filled with gravel, this truck plunged down the mountain. How this driver felt save driving some 15 tons down this ridge is another story. He was hard; no doubt about that. By the time we intersected him, we'd already passed a sign that either warned of danger or that this area was forbidden to enter. After miles of uphill climbing the slope became too steep for the scooter to make it. I'd estimate 60+ degrees. There were times before which were that steep but for a shorter duration resulting in me bailing and Dacota Fred Flintstone-ing up, engine screaming, standing up,his rice slippers digging into the hillside, and pushing the thing until it got enough traction to move on its own. Having reached the point where we could go no further, we parked the scooter on an outcropping, out of the “road”, and started hiking up the hillside switchbacks. On our walk, we looked at other mountains and noticed that they looked to have switchback paths also. We inferred this based on some stepped lines cutting into the forest, it was unique to see linear lines on a mountainside but it was too far to decidedly know for sure. Getting up those mountains will be another day's story. After a few miles up hill we came around a bend and found a gate and truck pulling out of the gated area. Surprised that we were up there, the driver of the truck came to meet us and asked why we were there. He explained that this was his job site and that it was extremely dangerous to be up there. He was in a relatively new Toyota 4x4 truck and offered to take us down the mountain. We declined because we had the scooter and started walking down. A brief discussion between the two of us decided we would go and ask the gate keeper if he would show us around and tell us what kind of business they ran. He saw us coming back and you could tell he was thinking, “Oh shit. What do these kids want?” The man obviously lived up there and his dog barked viciously upon our approach. Hailing him for a distance we asked our questions. It turns out that they produced gravel up here, dynamiting the hillsides, collecting the carnage, and transporting it downhill to be made into cement. He emphatically refused to show us around the compound because, besides being extremely dangerous, the man who originally told us to get lost was the boss and wouldn't take kindly to be disobeyed. Bidding farewell, losing our chance see the place and having lost time to find our intended mountain that was now lost amongst the other mountains, we started the treacherous ride down. During the exceptionally steep parts I walked down, and the other parts of the slope we slowly edged down, knuckles white with the strain from the brake levers. As luck would have it, the breaks had been recently replaced and the mission didn't end by us bailing off the stupid deep, unprotected drop-offs.


Our conversation down (because we had to talk instead of only focusing on not dying) conveyed that we both were appalled that they were destroying this mountain in order to make cement. Perhaps in 50 years time, when the mountain is gone, a reserve will implemented telling tourists of the time when a mountain existed. Once again, aggressively destroying irreplaceable systems in order to make a living. Not nefarious or immoral perhaps, just very, very sad.; another startling example of the human plague.


We made it down and decided to see if we could find a way up one of the other mountains. A few turns later, we found a bridge, and headed up another steep hill, amazingly it was actually paved. Pavement turned out as a double edge sword though. It allowed our scooter to make it up steeper climbs than before, which there were many, but also allowed moss to grow and leaves to accumulate. No matter how good your breaks are, if a film of slippery material doesn't allow proper contact or balancing, stopping and staying up are two tricky feats. We continued to climb and, to our amazement, continued seeing farms the further we went up. People actually lived up here. Great! This spurred our continued courage and egged us on. At one point, far past any farms, the road stopped and left us looking into several cut paths entering into the forest. Bamboo surrounded us and offered us sticks which we might swat the ground for snakes, hoping to detour them from striking. The sky was darkening and a good time for snakes to be out and about. I don't know why, but the idea of tree snakes like the Bamboo Viper freak me out. Perhaps it is because I am too busy looking down at the path instead of surveying the branches we are walking under to look for a green little snake that would hospitalize me. We followed this trail ever curious as to its purpose. During our hike, Dacota heard a rustling in the bushes. We stopped and looked around and noticed that we were not eight feet from a macaque. He was attempting to look dead. He didn't move, just sat supported on a tree branch. This is the closest I’d ever been a real primate. It was awesome and he was really cute! After pictures were taken we attempted to move off and unfortunately scared the little guy who dropped out of the tree and disappeared. Some while later we came to an abrupt end. The path simply ended; as if the person clearing it either found no need to continue or hadn't been able to finish it yet. Why did this path exist? Was it owned by someone who was simply checking out areas that might be farm-able? Was there some other hidden goal?


Our way back was quick and easy, no snakes and, unfortunately, no monkeys. During the areas that were entirely too slippery for us to both go down, I trekked down the hill and Dacota, again using the Flintstone tactic with feet down for balance and friction, managed to stay up. He didn't crash, which is more that I can say the unexperienced. Down a little ways we saw another path that looked driven on. It was extremely muddy and so we decided to explore it on foot. It was getting dark and the thought of slipping down this muddy path before having to continue down the hillside caused me to demand the hike. After a few miles, it became apparent that indeed this path was fairly well traveled by a vehicle. We crossed over a flooded part of the road and around one bend and came upon evidence of life. A small river passed through the road and on the other side, a campsite/structure? composed of tarps, boards, and metal. It looked inhabited. A rusty truck and scooter signified that it was indeed occupied. We would have explored it further yet fear of dogs stopped us. In the U.S. A campsite/living situation meant, to me, that some meth-heads were cooking or doing some sketchy business. The nicest part about this trip is that there are no tweekers in Taiwan. Why these people lived up here, so far up, across the river, is unknown to me, yet the simple fact they aren't attempting some Breaking Bad scenario was refreshing. On a few occasions in the U.S., I've come up to area in remote hillsides and seen some drug operations. I never saw anyone, nor was shot at, yet have heard plenty of stories from acquaintances who have experienced such a thing. These folks here in Taiwan, whatever there story, incited my curiosity and I would have been very excited to find out the answers to my questions. Are they just up here for solitude? To find personal peace and happiness? Or are they super poor and squatting on the land? Perhaps one day we will make it back up there and ask them. We stealthily left the area, returned to the scooter, and headed down hill. A few more stops of exploration took place yet none amounted to much. We headed back under the fall of night and devoured a meal of embarrassing proportion.


Besides for the crazy steep drops and 4x4 scootering, this Sunday was fairly relaxing. Lots of driving, lots of “break system workout” (yeah. They will need to be replaced soon-- already!), a few fun hikes, and even more curiosity about people and their amazing lives.