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? )

----------------

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.

Scroll down for pictures.


.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
..
.
.
.
.
..
.
.
.
..
.
.
..
.
.
..
.

.
.
.
.
..
.
.
.
.
.

.
.