Exploring the mountains - Day 3

After safety is secured, panic and adrenaline slowly leave the body. A hot meal and a good night's sleep puts is all behind you as an eventful memory. In my case, it seemed like a magnificent adventure. Again noting this because I am safely looking into the mirror, which composes the back-splash of my desk/vanity, at the mountains which almost swallowed us up yesterday. The Based God must have given us enough positivity to make it out alive.


Work finished for the day, Dacota and I left the house to get food and to find/create an adventure. A delicious meal of steamed dumpling soup, yam leaf, peanut/sesame noodles, mushrooms and vegetable medley, and green tea energized our start. The morning and previous evening was extremely rainy and our plans to river chase were cut short when, while stopping at the police station to obtain a permit, we were informed it was too dangerous to proceed and to try again another time. Even though I use the term “we” it is Dacota translating the situation to me for he is the one communicating with the folks in these tales. Disappointment by our plans being cut short we decided to stay in the north part of town and see if we can find some hiking. Taking a seemingly random street we started heading up into the mountains. Our push up a hill was interrupted when leashed dogs tried to attack us and started barking up a storm. It turned out we had driven up a long driveway and arrived at a magnificent house. Multilevel and completely unique (and I didn't get a picture!!!) wood and metal construction with a huge porch and the owner coming out to see what the ruckus was about. After some dialog exchange, we were given permission to continue on foot up the road. This man was a farmer seemingly by desire alone. We took this impression because the land was a beautiful permi-culture mix of useful but beautiful plants, gardens, hillside farming of a kind of berry probably used in Chinese medicine which were intermixed by mountainous plants. Although there was some line-trimming done, the majority of the farm was left wild. Centered in the walkable area, a full-grown tree grew in and around a giant boulder. The land wasn't cultivated near capacity, maybe only a few percent, and the plants that were growing looked to be for personal use. All besides the small shrubby bushes with hard red berries that I didn't recognize. We walked around his farm, looking for access to higher ground, yet were stopped by thick jungle. Why he let us explore his farm is unknown to me, but it was a very cool experience.


After departing the farm, we took some turns down an alternative roadway and found ourselves riding up switchback after switchback, climbing hundreds if not thousands of feet in elevation very quickly. So steep was the climb that the areas we couldn't carve (turning the wheel sharply and weaving up the hill) I had to get off and trek up the slope because the scooter - which has a 150 cc engine - couldn't make it up with our combined weight. Farm after farm was left behind as we rode up this mountain. At one point we stopped and checked out a small farms with no structures which grew green onions in the area we checked out. How the legality works regarding these makeshift farms is beyond me. So far removed from the city, and so high in the mountains, I only assumed that it was public property; however, it was cultivated and is a common thing to come across. Whether or not it is leased or truly public, besides this clearing, most of this D.I.Y. Farms we've come across don't result in clearing native space but rather simply adding farm-able vegetables to an area. I took time to describe this clearing as it will show up again later in this tale. The farmers who cultivate these plots are hardcore, riding up on motorcycles with tools and baskets hanging off of them. While stopped, waiting for me to pull out my camera, we were passed by one of these farmers; rugged, intense, dirty, he moved by us without a glance back and possibly no thoughts as to why two white kids were adventuring so far away from civilization.


After another five hundred to thousand foot elevation gain we arrived at a dead end, which is also where the farmer who passed by us earlier stopped. Trails, if you can call them that, headed into the jungle beyond and we began a journey which set my new bar of things that are hardcore.


Geared up, me wearing Crocs and Dacota in rice slippers, we hiked through the thick foliage. Mind blowing was the bio-diversity of tropical ferns, vines, spiked trees, tall grasses, huge leafed plants, palms, purple-leafed ivy, and so forth. Our path continued as the trail shifted into paths of rain run-off and animal paths. Various forks were offered, but we stayed true to the path we thought more traveled. After hiking a mile or so, we stared our ascent, and hiked through switchbacks and run-off paths. Dacota claimed a path existed and I fought this idea throughout the voyage. Hundreds and hundreds of feet we climbed, sticks waving in-front of our faces to remove spider webs, and additionally to whack the ground attempting to scare away possible snakes before we stepped into certain area too overgrown to attempt to guess what was below our feet. The ascent became so steep it caused us to climb up on all fours most of the time, using trees and roots to pull our bodies forward, and bouldering certain rocky out-croppings. All through the drive up my ears popped and adjusted to the changing altitude, and as we began hiking/climbing through cloud layers, my finicky ears continued their protest. At every turn and possible fork in the path, we attempted to put up signs of stacked rocks or stick formations in order to keep out way. At a certain point, we came to an area that looked to be the end of the road for us. Disappointed that we didn't find some kind of treasure, we decided to investigate the area further, and discovered yet another path leading up and continued onward. Reading this seems like it might be boring; I can assure you the opposite is true. Tromping up a tropical mountain on a “path” no wider than a paperback novel, through spiked plants, bug infested logs, mud and rock slides, and steep drops into thicker and thicker forest, all the the accompaniment of bird calls, monkey calls, humming of flying insects, labored breathing, and the ever present knowledge that we moved beyond human establishments and any kind of safety-net. For who would we tell that we went off on some wild adventure? Nobody, is the answer. And we continued, headstrong and without doubt. Now, literally, bush-whacking, crawling under mountain hedges, over fallen trees we came onto a clearing, and in this clearing, much to my surprise, a shelter made from tarps, branches, and logs sat under trees. The twin was correct. We actually followed some sort of path made by farmers or aboriginals quite possibly the entire time, that or we had stumbled upon this structure by complete accident. Either way, with the treasure found, rain began to fall, slowly and steadily, and then increasing in strength and volume. We climbed up a mountain in rice slippers and Crocs. N ow, time to descend, slippery mountain clay, moss and algae covered rocks became treacherous and our way down turned into slow crab crawling, or me slipping on my ass and sliding meters at a time and only stopping by being slammed into logs, roots, and rocks. Leeches began attaching themselves to us. The Crocs became so slippery that my ass had to touch the ground the majority of the extremely steep descents (somewhere around 70 degrees in slope change). Crocs, bad form, and extremely slippery conditions caused me to fall back from lack of footing, whip-lashing my neck and injuring my arms and wrists while attempting to slow and brace myself for impact. Dacota handled the ordeal much better based on his rice slippers and technique and after falling so many times it became imperative that something change before I hurt myself severely. Furthermore, the further we went down the mountain, the situation became more dangerous and a fall might potentially so significant damage. So we packed the Crocs, I took his rice slippers and he went barefoot. An imperative part of this tale needs to be mentioned here for clarity. Our need for haste and the decision that Dacota would go barefoot came because it was getting dark. Getting dark very quickly. The sun had already set towards the beginning of our descent, and the careful progression had taken a significant amount of the sunset. Perhaps only an hour until complete dark was upon us and beyond being muddy, scratched up, and unprepared for a night in the mountains, our path became unclear. Perhaps one of the marks had fallen or perhaps we missed it in the darkening forest, but we were lost, on an unrecognizable path, and heading deeper into the forest. The only thing we knew was that we were on the correct side of the mountain and that somewhere below us was a road . Some skilled leading by Dacota lead us into a flood path composed of rocks and we began to boulder down the slippery, but fortunately not active, path. I'd held a back a growing panic and quietly and grumpily attempted to quickly scamper down the mountain. Communication became imperative with the growing inability to see each other. Twilight masked massive drops (some twenty feet high) yet we managed to navigate around them, and I attempted to focus my mind and focus as my breathing as it became shallower and quicker. Beyond breath changes, my eyes in the dim light loss some detail recognition coupled with a mind that was resorting more and more the panic then objectivity. It was becoming clear that we might have to set up shop for the night, make some kind of a shelter, and not transgress further. Under the canopy, illumination objects became increasingly and drastically worse. With shouts of joy at almost the last moment before a decision to camp was made, Dacota came across pipework leading into the forest. PVC hiked and assembled far onto the mountain brought spring water down into fields, naturally gravity fed without the need of pumps. Knowing that these pipes needed to go somewhere towards humanity, we followed them, making our ways through palm forests, slipping and sliding along the gratefully thinning underbrush. A half mile or so following these pipes, moving exceptionally quick, attempting to leave the forest before no light remained, we came into a cultivated clearing. This area contained a variety of cultivated plants, ginger, greens, etc. and the terrain undulated into mini-hills on the side of this mountain. Thinking we knew where we were, Dacota ran off one way while I explored the edge of the area we came down through, hoping to find a pathway that would lead us down to the road. Someone farmed this, so there must be a way out. Calling for me to follow him, Dacota and I walked through various semi-shelters and or trellis' and found our way down into the patch of green onions we thankfully stopped and explored earlier. With a quick descent we found the road! The scooter some 800 feet above us became the object of debate. To walk down the road or to work back up, get the scooter, and go home. Stars above and the shining city below, Dacota started his long run towards the scooter. Several areas were so steep that there was no way for both of us to make it down on scooter if I followed. So with unknown hoots and crawling animals in the bushes, I made my way back into the field, hoping to put some distance from me and potential predators. Finding the field released my stress. Getting out of the woods was priority, if we would have had to spend the night in the field, I could have lived with that. At least we would have been away from some bugs and creepy crawlies. The fact we found the road though, made the situation infinitely better. A low rumble and flashing headlights some half hour later meant Dacota made it up to the scooter and our ride home was almost secure. First though, we would have to hopefully make it off the mountain without the breaks in the scooter being unable to stop out weight on the steep slope, or worse, for them to fail outright. One hill we came down exceeded the scooter's breaking capability, fortunately though, the bottom forked, one going uphill and one downhill, and we used the uphill road as a “run-away” ramp. Finally, we made it back down the mountain road and into the city where we sped homeward bound, glad to be back.


Once stripped of clothes, heading into the shower to remove all of the mud caked on me and wash out various cuts, I notice a large leech still attached to my ankle. “Dacota, can you get this leech of me, it is so gross.” I called to him. On the third day in Taiwan, I didn't think I would be saying this.

Overall this was a very fun adventure. Proper previsions and proper equipment would have made this much less stressful but once civilization was reached, the experience seemed every bit worth it. Perhaps the biggest benefit would have been some betel nut. Who needs water when you have some stimulants?!?!
 If we'd spent the night in the field, if I was injured, or if we were being pursued by hornets or violent animals of some kind are the only ways that this would have been more hardcore. Reports on the news channels tell tales of similar excursions resulting in death, in particular around Mount Hood or the P.C.T. I'm happy we weren't on the casualty list. Perhaps next time, when the police refuse us from participating in a fairly safe venture, we might consider not doing something far more ambition and without proper preparation. Making it down without injury or real problems made this the new benchmark. Many more trips to come and many more tries to come out feeling even more hardcore!

Edit:

I wanted to clarify my use and observance of the small farm plots. Although some farmed area uses natural landscapes and environments, it appears that a greater percentage clear-cut small sections and then plant in the clearing. Although Taiwan is better than certain Asian countries when it comes to environmental stewardship, a significant portion of these farms raped the land of natural beauty, health, and habitat.