Stop the dual-pricing system on Yushan!! (Please sign my petition…)

The summit of Yushan (3,952 meters)

I don’t normally do this kind of thing, but the decision by Yushan National Park (the protectors of Jade Mountain, the highest summit on Northeast Asia) here in Taiwan to slap a seemingly arbitrary and unfair surcharge on foreign visiting hikers sleeping at the main  hut on the mountain really made me angry.

On the trail

   I’ve created a petition and am looking for a thousand signatures; please consider signing it. YOU DON’T need to be in Taiwan to sign – this proposal mostly affects tourists who may come to Taiwan to visit in the future:

http://www.change.org/petitions/yushan-national-park-stop-the-dual-pricing-system-plan-for-hikers-staying-at-paiyun-lodge?share_id=YckjnwMEORpe=pce

 

The full text of our petition is below, in case you’d like to know the gory details. Please share the link with friends, acquaintances and colleagues, and on Facebook.

 

Thanks!

 

 

We are very concerned at Yushan National Park’s plan to introduce a double-pricing system for hikers staying at Paiyun Lodge on Yushan, when the lodge re-opens.
   While we are grateful that ARC-holding foreign residents are exempt from paying the higher rate, we feel that charging foreign visitors over three times the rate applicable to local and foreign resident climbers is both unfair and liable to create negative publicity for both Yushan National Park and the Taiwanese tourism industry in general. This policy could also set a worrying precedent, possibly encouraging other key tourist attractions in Taiwan to start their own dual-pricing system.
  
    Double-pricing, a highly annoying practice for many tourists, is common in many third-world and developing countries, such as India, China and several nations in Latin America, where local residents earn a much lower salary than the average foreign tourist.  Such practice is highly unusual in developed countries such as Taiwan however, and implementation of a double-pricing system at Paiyun Lodge (which as far as we’re aware will be a first in Taiwan) will surely encourage unfavorable comparison with similar pricing systems at third-world tourist destinations.    We’re also concerned about the National Park’s declared reasons for establishing this double-pricing system. According to an email from the National Park in reply to an enquiry about the plan from Steven Crook (author of the popular Bradt Travel Guideto Taiwan), recorded on Mr Crook’s blog (

http://bradttaiwan.blogspot.com/2012/05/paiyunlodge-aka-paiyun-shanzhuang-which.html),“The fee of Paiyun Lodge includes the cost of construction, management, and maintenance, etc. Local visitors staying overnight at Paiyun Lodge will be charged NT$220 per night. As for foreign visitors, the fee of NT$700 contains extra cost [sic]of management for the service of bilingual staff, the maintenance of website [sic] in foreign languages, English signs, and brochures in foreign languages, etc.”If foreign visitors (although curiously not including ARC permit holders) will be expected to pay a huge premium for the establishment of English signage/interpretive services etc. it will be a first in the Taiwanese National Park system. Taroko National Park and Shei-Pa National Parks have for several years provided a comprehensive, accurate and idiomatic English language service on their websites, in printed material and in signage, and to date have announced no plan to charge foreign visitors an extra cent for the service.    It appears we’re not alone in voicing our concerns as to the possible negative effects of a dual-pricing system at Paiyun Lodge among foreign visitors. On his blog, Mr Crook quotes a response from David W. Hsieh, the new director-general of the Tourism Bureau:

“Thank you for your email concerning the pricing policy of Paiyun Lodge in Yushan National Park. From the standpoint of international promotion, we think that it is not proper to charge foreigners differently from local citizens for the use of tourist facilities. As we mentioned before, national parks are outside the jurisdiction of the Tourism Bureau; we will, however, make strong suggestions about this matter to the Ministry of the Interior’s Construction and Planning Agency, which is the agency in charge of the parks.”

We feel strongly that the negative effects of the new pricing plan at Paiyun Lodge will far outweigh the extra capital to be gained by charging foreign visitors more, and ask you to seriously reconsider the merits of this planned dual-pricing system.

 

 Anyway here are a few pics from my last ascent of the mountain four years ago: it’s a beautiful place and a pretty simple climb (it’s a lot easier than it looks!).

The old Paiyun Lodge, now sadly no more

In the Cage, just below the summit

The summit path, from the trail to Yushan South Peak

Mount Fuji

 It’s still a couple of months until the frenzied activity of the ‘official climbing season’ (July and August) begins on Japan’s iconic tallest mountain, but I’ve been meaning to put up a few photos and my ambivalent thoughts about this place for quite a while, and since it’s bucketing down outside, and shows no sign of stopping for the rest of the day, today seems as good a time as any!

Station Five on the Yoshida Trail, the most popular starting point for the most popular route uo Mount Fuji

   There are loads of excellent sources for hikers wishing to climb Fuji, and anyway since we climbed the mountain three years ago, there’s no point in adding my general (and almost certainly inaccurate)  contribution on getting there and away to the loads of more up-to-date info already available.

The endlessly zigzagging Yoshida Trail is functional rather than scenic

   On the other hand, although Fuji is such a fabled mountain, and one that so many Westerners seem eager to climb, many (myself included, before I went) seem to have a false idea of what the climbing experience is really like. Climbing Fuji is a fantastic and absolutely worthwhile hike, but more for the extraordinary cultural experience it guarantees than for the climb itself - at least if you follow the phenomenally popular Yoshida Route as we did (there are another three trails up the mountain).

On the way up, kongo-zue in hand

   To put it bluntly, the Yoshida Route is – for the most part – a wide, crumbling, zigzagging track built with the sole purpose of getting countless locals (and a substantial number of foreigners) to the top of the mountain safely and as easily as possible. It has its occasional moments of scenic beauty, and in good weather (and we were blessed on our climb!) the views are magnificent, but to put it bluntly, it ain’t a very scenic experience. For a far more wild, natural trip to go along with the bragging rights that come with climbing one of the region’s highest mountains, try Yushan (Jade Mountain, here in Taiwan), or Mount Kinabalu in Borneo, which is both the toughest hike of the three summits by far, and the highest peak in East Asia (that is if you regard Papua, which has several far higher summits,  as part of Australasia). Either of these two offer hiking in incomparably more scenically beautiful surroundings, unless you find volcanic scree unusually beautiful.

   So climbing Mount Fuji along the Yoshida Route is – scenically – basically like climbing a vast mound of gravel. It’s also a treacherous descent, so consider carrying one of those traditional wooden poles or kongo-zue, which you can buy at the trailhead, to guard against slips; you can get them branded with stamps marking your altitude at the many stations and other stops on the way, and the branded kongo-zue makes a great souvenir of the climb.

Climbing Mount Fuji isn’t really about communing with nature; it isn’t even about challenging yourself especially, since although quite steep in places, it’s a pretty simple walk on a track (with just a few easy rough bits) that most able-bodied people can probably manage. Instead its great attraction is as an extraordinary cultural experience: mingling with the crowds at station five, hiking up past groups of color-coordinated local hikers, and sharing the sunrise view on the second morning (and the electric atmosphere they create) with thousands upon thousands of Japanese hikers. Owing to the language barrier we hardly exchanged a word with any of them, but up here all that stereotypical Japanese sense of ritual and stiff politeness are thrown to the winds. Everyone grins at everyone else, all formality is forgotten and the huge crowd shares in astonishment the drama and extraordinary beauty of the scene as the sun creeps over the horizon (and the Fuji sunrise was hands down the best I’ve ever enjoyed), and then casts a perfectly triangular shadow of the mountain over the mist on its far side.  

That sunrise view is something I won’t forget for a long time, but climbing Fuji once is enough for me. I wouldn’t go back for several reasons – there are countless far more beautiful and scenically rewarding climbs – in Japan as well as elsewhere – that deserve a trip, plus  it’s quite a controlled hike (you’ll probably have to book up the hut well in advance. Plus if you sleep the night on the mountain (as we did) the mountain huts are incredibly cramped. It’s astonishing, the Japanese ability to regularly put up with the most uncomfortable conditions. I’ve never had to make do with so little sleeping space in any mountain hut I’ve slept in – ever. Perhaps we were just unlucky (there are quite a few huts dotted along the upper reaches of the Yoshida Route, and maybe not all of them force sleepers in like sardines), or maybe we’d chosen an especially busy time to climb. Whatever the reason, once we were bedded down, we were packed in so tightly that – quite literally  – I couldn’t turn or even move without disturbing the sleepers on either side of me. It was hard to sleep more than a short spell at a time: I was constantly afraid of kicking my neighbor, or breathing into his face, and at one point, to save myself from going stark raving mad, I got up (waking up my fellow sleepers on either side in the process) and went to the chilly bathroom for about half-an-hour, not to use the facilities, but to doze a little on the loo and enjoy the feeling of space for a spell before returning to the claustrophobic nightmare of that dorm.

More photos

An extraordinary lenticular cloud, which formed soon after sunrise on day 2

The summit sign at the highest point of Mount Fuji

Just after sunrise, the sun casts a perfect shadow of Fuji over the morning mists on the far side of the mountain

Fuji’s impressive summit crater

Me at the top!

During the short season, vast crowds gather each morning to watch the sunrise from the summit of Mount Fuju

Torii Gates like this one ring the summit crater of Mount Fuji, marking the end of each of the four trails up the mountain

Taiwan’s Bat Caves

Yuemei Cave, above Wudu, near Keelung

Until my right little finger finally heals, and allows me to practice piano for more than fifteen minutes without swelling up (and God knows when that will be!) I seem destined to releasing my emotional energies on as many long hikes as I can, and on reliving various recent and long-passed adventures on this blog. At least this gives me the chance to look out and arrange some of the huge backlog of photos from trips around the island that are presently slowing down my computer….

   My return visit to Huangdidian Bat Cave the other week has set me thinking about Taiwan’s  many other caverns. I’m no geologist, but Taiwan’s geological makeup doesn’t lend it to the formation of deep caves – there’s very little limestone here!  (Now my home country England – that’s a different matter – check out this Titanic cave, discovered only in the year 2000!)  Even Wikipedia, rather embarrassingly, has only one entry on its ‘Caves of Taiwan’ page – the well-known Baxien Caves on the coast of southeastern Taidong County.  Actually there are loads of ‘caves’ on the island, and although most are little more than impressive, wind-eroded overhangs in rock faces, Taiwan has a number of true caverns as well.

Sanmin Bat Cave, the largest of its kind in northern Taiwan

Let’s start with those  deep ones. I’ve heard from several sources that there are a couple of relatively deep and possibly impressive stalactite caves in Taiwan – mainly in the south. There’s footage of caves in  Kending National Park, and once while down south I passed  a sign for a local outfit advertising its local ‘show cave’. For good reason though they’re not generally advertised, and – hopefully – now protected; large and beautiful stalactites (or stalagmites) and other beautiful natural cave rock formations mounted on wooden plinths can often be found for sale, and I was told not all of them came from abroad.

In Guanxi Bat Cave

That leaves only a handful of ‘real’ caves that I know of in Taiwan that are accessible to the average explorer. The best-known is the wonderful Guanxi Bat Cave (關西蝙蝠洞)  in a small area of limestone country near the town of that name in Hsinchu County.  [The following info comes from my last visit to the cave, about 5 years ago, and things could have changed since]. Just off Freeway Three, the little road to the trailhead is clearly signposted off the Luoma Highway (羅馬公路; county route 118; actually an often narrow mountain road along the southern bank of Shimen Reservoir). Turn off route 118 close to the 32.5 kilometer road marker (a wooden sign points out the way to the cave). The lane is exceptionally narrow in places, but (keeping left at the fork) it’s not too long before it reaches a small parking area. Leaving the vehicle here, a concrete track continues ahead, steeply uphill, until a clear, stepped path on the right climbs the hillside towards the cave.

In less than ten minutes the trail reaches its highest point and starts descending beside a cliff of weathered limestone, its base pierced by a large black hole. This cave is inaccessible after a few meters, but follow the trail steeply downhill a minute or two further, and another dark cavity in the rock appears, with the Chinese characters ‘出口’ (‘exit’) painted in red paint beside it. This is actually now the main entrance to the system, after the original entrance nearby was closed.

The entrance to Guanxi Bat Cave

    Obviously you’ll need a powerful torch to enter the cave mouth, which is a vertical chimney about 15 meters in depth. A long and awkward rope ladder is permanently fixed to the rock, and at the bottom a long, steeply sloping passage dives down into the bowels of the Earth.   The tricky bit over, the next stage is a much easier walk through a natural cavern whose roof soon rises high above. Entering a large cave chamber about five minutes in, another long rope ladder gives access into a chamber above at the far end of this large cavern for further exploration. A third ladder climbs down further into the system, but it’s a tricky one, and we didn’t go any further on our visit. 

   Oh, and there are LOTS of bats inside, as you’ll find out as soon as you enter!

Below the Bat Cave is the Blue Green Waterfall (碧綠瀑布). Reached by a steep and often extremely muddy trail down the hillside, starting below the cave entrance, the waterfall is unlike any other I know in Taiwan. Walking the last few meters up to the waterfall you’ll have to follow the stream, stepping on dry rocks in the bed of the fast-flowing watercourse. The waterfall cliff soon comes into view ahead, but curiously unless there’s been heavy rain recently, it may well be  completely dry.  At low water the stream disappears into a sinkhole at the top of the fall and gushes out a small black hole at the base of the cliff.  It’s a strange sight, and, for Taiwan, probably a unique one. 

Guanyin Cave, the symbolic source of the Keelung River (it actually rises a few hundred meters above this shallow cave), a couple of kilometers west of Jingtong village, New Taipei City

Baxian Caves (八仙洞), a series natural formations in the cliffs above the Pacific coast just inside the Taidong County border, are scenic and attractive, but of greatest interest for the prehistoric remains found inside at least one of the shallow caverns.  North, just across the border in Hualien County, Moon Cave (月洞) is  a real – although flooded – cavern; the (fresh) water inside is said to rise and fall according to the phases of the moon.  My only visit to the cave was, er, many moons ago, and at that time we could only walk down to the dark, flooded entrance; the wooden rafts that once shunted people through the flooded cavern were rotting and unusable. Moon Cave has since re-opened, and should make for an unusual break on the long, beautiful haul along the coast road between Hualien and Taidong.  

   There’s just one other really deep cave I know of in Taiwan, the  Quhu Immortals Cave (堀湖仙洞; described elsewhere on the blog here), the only one of the three ‘caves’ on Guanyin Mountain (near Taipei city) that really deserves the name, but although easily accessible (if you know the way!) this one is deep, and dangerous for casual explorers, requiring ropes etc.   

OK, Those are the best natural caverns in Taiwan that I know of, but there are loads more fascinating places that with a bit of artistic licence can be shoe-horned into this catagory. The Taiwanese love  using the word ‘Bat Cave’ to describe anything from the deep recesses of the cavern in Guanxi (packed with the furry little mammals) to a small overhanging rock face  in Nuandong Gorge (near Keelung) which shelters a collection of pottery urns containing the remains of long-departed locals, but little else.

The Bat Cave at Nuandong Gorge, Keelung city

Ten or fifteen Bat Caves lie dotted around the island, all interesting diversions while in the area, and a couple, such as Shifen Bat Cave (see here) and the Huangdidien Bat Cave (described here and here)  are pretty impressive in their mysterious isolation. Best-known by far though are the two at Sanmin, in Taoyuan County, and at Toubienkeng, near Taichung.

In Sanmin Bat Cave

Getting to Sanmin Bat Cave (三民蝙蝠洞) used to be a wonderful short adventure, threading along a narrow, overgrown trail then climbing down the side of the gorge on a long, fixed rope, before making a way up the streambed, stepping on rocks, to the gaping mouth of the cave. All that changed nearly a decade ago, when those-that-know-best decided to lay a surfaced path, with steps, almost all the way to the cave. At least they had the sense to stop a few meters short, and the cave area itself is still largely untouched (aside from a few unnecessary hand rails and cute picnic tables). The cave remains a very impressive and atmospheric place. 

The waterfall at Sanmin Bat Cave

A small waterfall plunges through a naturally-carved hole in the rock into a plunge pool (used by locals for swimming during the summer) at the mouth of the cave, which in the flesh always seems bigger than its vital statistics would suggest (50 meters wide by 20 meters high, and 20 meters deep).  The cave is certainly well worth the short walk  from the end of the (signposted) road from the North Cross-island Highway (route 7) that starts in the middle of the village of Sanmin. More details can be found in Taipei Escapes II, on page 69.

Guanyin Cave temple, Sanmin, Taoyuan County

From the Bat Cave a trail winds beside the stream above the waterfall for about an hour to another large natural shallow cavern, Guanyin Cave (觀音洞); sadly though  this one  has gone the way of many other similar natural features such as Sun Moon Cave (日月洞, in the hills above Tucheng, west of Taipei) and has almost disappeared behind a large but cheaply built and rather ugly temple – all reinforced concrete and exposed girders.

Sun Moon Cave, above Tucheng, New Taipei City

The Dapu Bat Cave, east of the huge  Tsuenwen Reservoir in southern Chiayi County is, like the one at Sanmin, accompanied by a beautiful waterfall, but here the fall (Yuetao Waterfall; 月桃瀑布) is more enticing than the black hole of the cave next to it and rather overshadows it. In any case the rocks below the cave looked too slippery to risk climbing up!

In Toubienkeng Bat Cave

On the hilly route 136, one of the roads connecting Taichung City and neighbouring Nantou County (a road which, amazingly, was still unsurfaced for many kilometers the last time I drove along it a couple of years ago!), the Toubienkeng Bat Cave  (頭汴坑蝙蝠洞) has, like those at Guanxi and Sanmin, been a famous tourist attraction for many decades. According to a friend it was once a long walk from the nearest road to the cave mouth. That must have been a long time ago, because the cave has stood right beside a road for the decade or so since I’ve known it, suffering a bit from its proximity to ugly concrete residences, and a well-meaning but ill-conceived attempt to landscape the area in front of the main cave with ornamental foot bridges and wide stone paths.

Entrance to the Toubienkeng Bat Cave

The Bat Cave, unusually, is a combination of natural and man-made passages.  The entrance to the cave is a small, black, and rather uninviting slot in the cliff face, and there’s often water several inches deep on the floor (bring boots or flip-flops!) but fifty meters along the cliff to the right, the exit is via a gaping natural cavern which looks quite imposing, even from the nearby road. The tunnels were apparently bored through the rock during the Japanese colonial period, to channel water from the swiftly descending river to irrigate fields downstream. The bats which once lived here now seem to have gone elsewhere (no doubt fleeing the assault of noisy, flashlight-totting thrill-seekers that arrive each weekend).

Toubienkeng Bat Cave

 Plenty of caves do still provide a home to bats, of course, one of the most important of them being the Ruifang Bat Cave (瑞芳蝙蝠洞) on the northeast coast just down the road from Keelung. This place is famous among local naturalists as a reserve for the Schreiber’s Bat (Miniopterus schriberii), listed as ‘near threatened’ on the IUCN Red List. The caves (there are actually two), beside the coast road between Shen Ao and Nanya (immediately after the road passes through the only short tunnel between the two villages; look for the Bat sign) are actually the man-made result of mining. Despite the importance of the site, local authorities have stubbornly resisted giving it any kind of protection. Noise created during road widening scared off many of the bats, and a local now cultivates  an allotment  (!) on the ground in front of the tunnel mouths. Apparently the tunnels are still used by the bats during the breeding season (May to July), although in depleted numbers.

   Another man-made tunnel used by bats to this day (simply because it was – until recently - so little visited; how DID they find this place?) is called Reclining Dragon Cave (臥龍洞), close to the town of Puli (埔里) in the very center of the island. This place used to be a bitch to find, and during a year-and-a-half of living in Puli and several attempts, I never found the correct way, because the tunnel entrance lies in rough, confusing, jungle-covered country and there was no trail. We finally struck lucky five or six years ago when, while in the area, we’d heard a group had been there with a guide (and a big machete). It appears the local authorities have recently finally cleared the historic route that passes through the tunnel, and made a followable trail. The trip from the road isn’t all that long (perhaps 45 minutes), but the tunnel (about a hundred meters long and up to about 7 meters in height),  cut in Japanese colonial times as part of an old route through the mountains, is (or at least was) a wild place, deep in thick jungle. I must go back one day. My photos of it are awful, but this website has one that gives an idea of the place, and here are directions (in Chinese); it’s well worth seeking out if you’re in the Puli area.

One of the White Horse General Caves

   Another place with a bit of history, White Horse General Cave (白馬將軍洞),  near the tofu town of Shenkeng in Taipei coun… er New Taipei City is a collection of tiny overhangs in the densely jungled hills above town, which were the hideouts for a group of resistance fighters in the early years of the Japanese colonial period.  A couple of them lie beside the surfaced path that climbs up to little Black Moon Hill (烏月山); the route is described in – yes – Taipei Escapes I (page 197).

   Finally, a rather fine feature in an unexpected location: Wugu, near Keelung. Up in the low hills north of town is a very nice little climb called Mount Xiandonghu (仙洞湖山), which despite its insignificant height of 298 meters (!) offers excellent views from its sheer  cliffs. The trail up the hill starts near Yuemei Cave (月眉洞; see the photo at the top of this blog entry), a large wind-eroded overhang in a sandstone cliff similar in shape to the Bat Caves at Huangdidien  and Shifen, but much easier to get to than either.

Sun Moon Cave, near Mingjian, Nantou County, the result of a decades-long labor of love by a local man, who dug the network of tunnels out by hand!

   I could go on and describe a few more, but they’re pretty similar. Several  fascinating places I’ve yet to reach though include the biggest cave mouth in Taiwan, the Thousand People Cave (千人洞) near Chiayi County. Accessible from one of my favorite spots in the whole of Taiwan (Fengshan 豐山; the scenery in this area is some of the finest on the whole island, for my money), the cave is usually incorporated into a 2-day hike between the mountain resort of Shanlinxi (杉林溪) and Fengshan, combining the cave with a visit to Shuiyang Shenlin (水樣森林), a coniferous forest flooded (and still partly submerged in a lake) when a landslide caused by the 921 Earthquake damned a stream.  

The Sitting Room, Sun Moon Cave (Nantou County)

   Nearby, an awesome-looking trail (阿里山來吉蹤走) connects Alishan with Laiji, another magically situated settlement. The two villages are separated by the terrific cliffs of Tashan (塔山), on which lies the  Quanshuixian Cave (泉水仙洞), which local aboriginals believe was once inhabited by a giant. It looks like an amazing place, but getting there (with two major cliffs, the Mountain Goat and Tashan Passes, to climb) would entail hiring local aboriginal guides.

GETTING THERE

I’ve listed approximate GPS coordinates for some of the caves below (taken from Google Earth); of the remainder, you’ll have to rely on a good old-fashioned map for now – most are marked on good Chinese-language maps.

   All the caves in the Taipei area are described in detail in Taipei Escapes:

Guanxi Bat Cave: 24° 45 ’32″ N  121° 14′ 02″ E

Guanyin Cave temple: TE2, page 70

Huangdidian Bat Cave:  TE1, page 183-4

Nuandong Gorge Bat Cave:  TE1, page 45-6

Qufu Immortal’s Cave:  TE2, page 21

Ruifang Bat Cave: TE1, page 67-8

Sanmin Bat Cave (24° 50′ 10″” N  121° 21′ 14″ E): TE2, page 69

Shifen (Nanshanping) Bat Cave:  TE1, page 83-4

Source of the Keelung River (Guanyin Cave): TE1, page 88

Sun Moon Cave (New Taipei City): TE2, page 173

Toubienkeng Bat Cave:  24° 06’28″ N  120° 46′ 48″ E

White Horse General Cave: TE1, page 197-8

Hohuan North and West Peaks (合歡山西/北峰)

Hohuanshan North Peak puts on a spectacular show each May as the rhododendron bushes studding the mountainside come into bloom

Hohuanshan, straddling the Nantou-Hualien County boundary in the center of Taiwan, is the most accessible slice of high mountain magnificence in the whole of Taiwan.  And high it is – Wuling (武嶺), the highest point of the road (route 14, which connects the town of Puli in the south with the Central Cross-island Highway at Dayuling in the north) is 3,275 meters above sea level, making it the highest road in Taiwan, and one of the highest in northeast Asia.

Near the North Peak

  

Below Mount Hohuan North Peak

Hohuanshan is famous for a couple of reasons – it’s the favorite (and easiest) place in Taiwan to see snow in the winter. It’s renowned for its gorgeous high mountain scenery, which is jaw-droppingly spectacular in clear weather, even from the car, although most visitors can also handle the 20-30 minute climb to Mt Shimen (3,237 meters), by far the simplest of Taiwan’s ‘Hundred Peaks’ to climb.

Rhododendrons near the North Peak

  Come this way in April or May, though, and it’s the extraordinary display of flowering rhododendrons that really steals the show. Hohuanshan has one of the island’s most famous displays of high mountain flowers – it’s up there with the famous alpine meadow at Batongguan (八通關), which apparently is at its best a little later, in June.

The trail to the west peak is pretty steep in places, and makes for a tiring return!

Hohuanshan is the best place in Taiwan to see how spectacular this island is without even leaving the comfort (and warmth) of the car, but the hiking here is fab, and mostly pretty easy. If anything a little too easy, perhaps, as the one-hour road walk up to the main peak (3,417 meters) and the short scoot up Mt Shimen which I already mentioned don’t exert anywhere near the same appeal for many of us hikers as the challenge of the cliff-bound peaks of nearby Mt Chilai (described here), which tower across the valley to the east of the road.  

Mount Chilai North Peak is an impressive sight, looming across the valley

Looking back towards the North Peak

   Among the five main peaks of the Mt Hohuan group, however, the hike to the North and West Peaks (3,422 meters and 3,145 meters respectively) are in a class of their own, and make for a great and mildly challenging day (or a more relaxed 1.5 day hike) in spectacular scenery that feels like a genuine Taiwan High Mountain hike.

May on Hohuanshan North Peak

   The great thing about Hohuanshan is that, almost uniquely among the high mountain peaks, no permits are required. Er, police permits ARE actually required for the North/West Peaks trail, although we didn’t bother – there was no one up there to check. If you’re playing by the rules, they’re easy to get at any police station on the way up the mountain. The great –  no HUGE – advantage of this is that for once it’s possible to cherry-pick the time you hike there, and choose the best weather for the hike – in Taiwan (where national park permits have to be applied for at least a week in advance) this is a rare and wonderful luxury.

Between the summits

    Chosing the best time to go does mean a trip will often turn into a last-minute decision (as in deciding the day before the trip), and this was one of the reasons that in the event only two of us were actually up for the trip when we decided to go for it. The omens weren’t so great: I’d been feeling out of sorts  for a week or so – dicky stomach, sleeping badly, no appetite, plus on the Saturday afternoon when we left Taipei on a bus bound for Puli (埔里) in Nantou County, there was a huge afternoon downpour that lasted well over an hour, with forecasts for more the following afternoon. In Taiwan though, hikers soon learn that the only way to get out into the hills on a regular basis  is to take an educated risk, and this time it paid off – the weather was better than I had any right to expect, my stored fat reserves were enough to keep my ailing body going, even though I was finding it hard to force anything down, and calm, collected yet ever-enthusiastic Ian was  the perfect company. Plus the rhododendrons were at the height of magnificence. In short, this short mountain hike was quite a highlight of the year’s hiking experiences to date!

On the trail between the two peaks

We arriving in Puli (a 4 hour bus ride from Taipei West Bus Station, from where there’s a regular service) just before 8 pm. We’d have left Taipei earlier, but one of us had to work until 2 pm. Immediately opposite Puli Bus Station a scooter hire shop got us kitted out with new scooters for NT$600 for 24 hours. A few other outfits nearby have cheaper, older bikes, but didn’t seem willing to rent them for the punishing almost 3,000 meters of vertical ascent up to Hohuanshan. In any case International Driving Licences are asked for; we both had Taiwan scooter licences so we were high and dry.  

On the North Peak, early morning

The exhilarating ride up the mountain to Hohuanshan (about 53 kilometers) takes around 2 hours if you push it; bring a windbreaker and gloves – it’s freezing cold up on the top, even in May! Pass over the summit at Wuling, and continue down the far side for about six kilometers, past the Songshue hostel (site of the trailheads for Hohuan East Peak, Mt Shimen and the mighty Chilai ridge) and on down a discouragingly long way to the trailhead for the North and East Peaks, on the left a couple of hundred meters after some toilets.

   It was about 10:30 pm when we started up the trail, headlamps on, backpacks on back. The trail is pretty simple and quite safe to climb at night, although the scenery is so fabulous it’s a shame not to do it both ways in daylight. From here it’s about 2 kilometers to Mt Hohuan North Peak (合歡山北峰). The terrain is covered in low cushions of dwarf bamboo all the way up however, with plenty of places to pitch a tent, which we did at the first available spot, about 1.4 kilometers (about 50 minutes, in the dark) up the trail. A few hundred meters further up the trail, near a conspicuous aircraft reflector panel the terrain flattens out, with much better camping ops, as we found out the following morning.

On the trail, not far from the West Peak

   Our tiny camping place was cramped and a bit sloping, which made for an interesting night in our two-man tent, but we made it through the night with good humor, and awaking at 5:30 to THAT view in the morning was truly memorable. The cliffs of pyramidal Mount Chilai North Peak (奇萊山北峰) towered dramatically ahead, while over to the left the more distant peaks of fabulous, pointed Zhongyangjian (中央尖山) and the softer contours of Mount Nanhuda (南湖大山) were conspicuous along the long line of the ridge to the north.

At the summit of the North Peak

   The area around the rounded summit of Hohuanshan North Peak is dotted with countless rhododendron bushes of seemingly two main species. The earlier, white-flowering kind had already been in bloom for some time when we arrived the second week in May, and the first blooms were dying off. The even lovelier deep pink species, however was at its height, with plenty of buds still swelling. The scene was simply enchanting, with rounded bushes heavy with flowers giving a perfect backdrop to panoramic views over the mountains, with Lishan (梨山) village far below, and beyond the great wall of Snow Mountain West Ridge clear as a bell in the early morning air. Snow Mountain (雪山) itself looked unusually angular from this direction, while to its west the unmistakable point of Mount Jiayang  (佳陽山) and the abrupt drop-off off of Jian Shan (Sword Peak; 劍山) - summits I’d love to climb one day – stood out against the blue sky.

   The hike to Hohuan North Peak is pretty easy and extremely lovely if you’re blessed with clear weather. Just before the summit plaque the trail splits, with one route striking north to the lonely little Tianluan Pond (天巒池) on the ridge above Lishan. The trail to  Hohuan West Peak heads westwards here, but be warned, the trail from here is a lot more strenuous than the easy prelude just completed, with five or six steep peaks of varying sizes to conquer before the modest, rounded West Peak itself is reached. It’s not too bad, but the trail is steep and rough in many places, and an absolute killer if you take it too fast.

More rhodos

   Immediately after the North Peak plaque, the mountain, all rounded contours and grassy hummocks from the southwest, finally reveals its rugged side. The  northwest face of the North Peak is completely eroded away into a mass of sheer cliffs of rotten, crumbling shale. And – the good news – the trail sticks to the edge of this spectacular landform for much of the way, passing over another small peak, and then plunging down the longest and steepest descent of the whole hike.

   The scenery is simply wonderful all the way from here to the West Peak;  things calm down a bit in the later stages, when the trail lies more in stunted woodland, but even here there are still enough marvellous views and soft, rolling hillside views to make the hike a constant delight. The West Peak is so low it’s hidden behind the peaks you have to cross first until to the top of the final one, when its rather humble, gently curved contour finally comes into view below. There’s one last steep drop with a fixed rope, then the trail climbs through the springy tussocks to the summit plaque of Hohuan West Peak (西合歡山).

Mount Hohuan West Peak

   It’s a great place to hang around awhile – the scenery is gentler than earlier on the hike, but with a long view up the deep Hohuan Stream valley along the line of little summits back to the North Peak. If retracing steps all the way though, don’t wait too long, as it’s still a long way back! Strangely the return is slightly quicker (or at least it seems to be), despite a lot of steep uphill climbing. The final set of pushes to the top of the North Peak is really hard on tired legs, and I had to force-feed myself chocolate for an instant energy burst to get my poor, sickly body to the top.  Those with their own transport (and driver) can however opt for a much easier alternative: a trail about a kilometer before the summit of the West Peak drops down to Huagang in the Hohuan Stream valley in a little over an hour, bypassing the long climb back, although by doing that you’ll also miss out on all those marvellous views!

The summit of the West Peak

On the West Peak

GETTING THERE

Hohuanshan North and West Peaks is a fabulous walk, especially since the ease of getting permits means it’s possible – for once – to choose a good weather day for the climb. The North Peak is within the range of anyone that walks at all regularly, and the long upward climb visible from the road below shouldn’t put anyone off if the weather is clear. The hike to Hohuan West Peak is a tougher proposition, especially if you’re not used to the altitude. The two of us agreed that the return hike, if done in one day, is a stiffer test than any of the days on the standard Yushan or Snow Mountain routes - it’s a long day (about 9 hours). On the other hand there are loads of great camping sites (albeit the best are either side of the North Peak, where there’s more flat land), and as a two-day trip it would be awesome. Alternatively do the three easy climbs: Hohuan Main and East Peaks and Mount Shimen on the first day and tackle the North and West summits the following day, when your body has adapted a bit to the high altitude.

Ian on the second morning

The east ridge of Huangdidian and the Bat Cave

Descending from the East Peak of Huangdidien

The knife-edges and metal ladders of Huangdidien’s famed ridge hike are so much fun that during the many hikes I’ve done there (I’ve probably been over ten times over the years), I’ve never – even once – been able to tear myself away from the main area and explore much of the nearby trail system. A look at what else the area has to offer has been long overdue, so on the magnificently sunny first Sunday in May, a group of us set off for Huangdidien, to find something new.

Huangdidien Bat Cave

   The knife-edge ridges of the main ridge are still a fun adrenaline rush, despite the well-meaning desecration performed on them a few years ago, with the idea of making the hike less ‘risky.’ (For those unfortunates who didn’t know Huangdidien a decade and more ago, most of the ledges were a lot narrower in those days – the rock has been chiseled away to make the ledge wider in many places, and the footholds on the rockfaces are much bigger than in the days of yore.)

Inside the Bat Cave

   It’s fair to say the east ridge of Huangdidien (from the East Peak to Yugueiling) offers nothing that’s going to tempt first-timers to Huangdidien away from the main event; to compensate, though, these much less popular trails haven’t yet been ‘improved,’ and still feature a couple of fun and mildly challenging sections, and the lack of other hikers and the general sense of peace and quiet are refreshing after those crowded trails to the west.

Near the East Peak

    We started our exploration of Huangdidien’s neglected eastern ridge from what I call the ‘Tourist Trailhead’ at least an hour later than planned. Bus 666 is well-numbered. I’ve had all sorts of problems with this diabolical service over the years – buses that never turn up (the service is pretty infrequent after around 9 am), stampedes for the few available seats on the bus when it finally arrives, etc. Arriving at Jingmei MRT station at 7 am, we arrived just in time to see the bus (which I noted was almost empty) pass by. The next bus, 20 minutes later, was packed to the gills (there wasn’t even any room to stand in the aisle or beside the driver). The following 666 bus was a short-route service and didn’t even go as far as Shiding. When we finally got on the fourth bus, an hour after arriving at Jingmei, most of us still ended up standing. The lesson to be learned here I suppose is DON’T GO TO HUANGDIDIEN ON A SUNDAY  or, if you do, go early!! Failing that from Jingmei MRT station walk north up Roosevelt Road (west side) a little bit to the terminus two stops up, where at least you’ll have a fighting chance of getting on if there are already a couple of hiking groups waiting.

Huangdidien East Peak

   It was nine am before we finally turned up (on foot) at the car park at the end of the road at Xiaodzukeng trailhead. Buses generally stop at the bottom of this approach road, about 2 kilometers east of lovely old Shiding village (get off at Huangdidien bus stop; 皇帝殿站, beside a distinctive small temple built on a bridge over a stream. Some services don’t go this far however; be sure ask before hopping on the bus).

  Xiaodzukeng is the most popular trailhead for Huangdidien, simply because it offers the easiest and quickest ascent to the knife-edges of the main ridge. It also offers several lengthy, monotonous series of wide stone steps leading up the wooded slopes to the ridge; these are another relatively new ‘improvement’ – they were built a decade or so ago; before them the trail (if I remember right) was a more aesthetically pleasing dirt with much narrower stone steps.

   We started the hike by choosing the steps on the right, signposted to the East Peak (東峰), but within a hundred meters abandoned the surfaced path, veering off instead onto a rough and rather steep dirt trail (indicated by a couple of concrete steps on the right of the main path).

   This dirt trail is steep and rough in parts, and the tangled forest it passes through isn’t exactly picturesque, but it sure beats the steps. On the left after perhaps 30 minutes is Chautian Cave (朝天洞), a dark, small, vertical pothole in the ground. Clambering on up the hillside, in about another half hour, the trail reaches a T junction - the trail from near the East Peak of Huangdidien to the wonderful Bat Cave.

   I’d only been once before to Huangdidien’s famed Bat Cave, the largest cave mouth in the Taipei area, at the end of a day’s hiking along Huangdidien, and I was surprised to find the way there (while by no means easy) wasn’t nearly as hard as I remembered. It’s quite a fun climb down, but the hardest bit remains the climb up the short but very steep scree slope into the cave, which is precarious work. It was mid morning when we arrived, and the sun was shining into the cave, lighting up the various colors of the sandstone  cliffs, making the place seem far less forbidding than on our first visit a year or two ago. Huangdidien Bat Cave is a special place - impressive and slightly mysterious, but be sure to scramble up into the cave itself, as it’s only from inside that its size can be really appreciated. Don’t hang around too long though - the cave roof is unstable (all that scree had to have come from somewhere) and there’s a risk of rock falls.

   Retracing steps back the T junction, we followed the trail ahead over and down a steep ridge (there are ropes now on this stretch, which make the steep descent much easier than on our first visit), to join the ‘tourist’ path up to the East Peak at the top of the stone steps. Turning right up a steep dirt bank, we reached the ridge trail in a few meters and turned right for ten minutes’ climb to the rocky East Peak of Huangdidien (at 563 meters, the highest point on the ridge) and its fantastic view.

Near the East Peak, looking towards Xiaobajian and Shibajian peaks and (behind) Fengtoujian, one of the Pingxi Three Peaks

   Even those that have no intention for straying far off the popular loop around Huangdidien should include the short detour to the East Peak, and continue a couple of minutes further east as the trail descends along the sharp spine of rock on its eastern side. For my money, this short stretch of ridge walk after the East Peak is one of the finest moments along the entire Huangdidien ridge, with inspiring views in clear weather.

En route to Xiaobajian

   Shortly the trail dives back into the rough forest, and the airy ridge-top walk is replaced by the quieter pleasures of clambering along the rough trail, until before too long it reaches a small summit and a tiny open area at the junction (on the left) for Xiaobajian (小霸尖; ‘small chief point’). It’s a short, steep climb down, with a fun rock face or two to negotiate, to reach a small saddle, then another short, steep clamber (and another small cliff to climb) to reach the tiny summit of this foliage-covered finger of rock, which is very conspicuous from the Muzha to Pingxi road, far below. The view is restricted, and no match for the wonderful panorama from the East Peak, but there’s a good view westwards, back along the ridge just travelled, and the main ridge of Huangdidien beyond.

Xiaobajian peak

   A short, easy walk further along the main trail leads to Shibajian (石霸尖;  ’stone chief peak’ 537 meters). Unfortunately there’s not much of a view from this shapely, steep-sided dome, which is again covered in thick forest.

   The trail now begins descending and shortly meets the top of one of those wide, neat flights of smooth stone steps that attack the ridge from sides, and seem so out-of-place in such an attractively wild landscape. Ignoring this easy way down, we took the dirt path ahead instead (signposted in Chinese to the Bird’s Beak Peak 鳥嘴尖). In a minute or two there’s another junction. The trail ahead follows the ridge to its very end, at Yugueiling, where it’s possible to connect up with the trail on to Fengtoujian, Pingxi and Shifen at the head of the Keelung River Valley. This opens up some fascinating possibilities, such as long, multi-day hikes from Taipei city’s Muzha (the top of the gondola) all the way to the coast near Jiufen, along trails basically all the way.  With much less ambitious plans today, though, we turned left, climbed over a small sill of rock, and took the trail at the bottom towards the Bird’s Beak.

   This trail is unclear in places, and you need to look out carefully for the trail-marking ribbons. After a short descent, the trail climbs up to the left onto a narrow ridge, which it then follows to the top of the tiny peak known as the Bird’s Peak. The summit (reached by a short side-trail on the right 0f the main trail) is a small rocky outcrop, with a sheer drop at the far side, although once again thick foliage means the view is limited.

Bird’s Beak Rock

   Ten minutes down the other side of the Bird’s Beak Peak, the Bird’s Beak Rock (鳥嘴岩) looms out of the trees on the right. It’s well named, although it definitely reminds more of an eagle than any other kind of bird. From here several trails descend to route 106 (the Muzha to Pingxi road). We chose one on the left after the big electricity pylon, steep and fun in places, and quite rough-going, eventually emerging at the road on the edge of Yongding village, right beside the trailhead of the wide, stone steps we’d ignored earlier.

   Turning left, through the village, a small betel nut shop right next to the bus stop for buses back to Muzha sells ice-cold drinks – a very welcome end to a fun, 5-6 hour hike through some of Huangdidien’s less often explored landscapes.

On the trail near Shibajian

Sandiaoling Waterfall Trail and the Pingxi Crags – a fabulous combination

Motian Waterfall

I’ve long thought the upper Keelung River valley (along the Pingxi Branch Line) one of Taipei area’s very finest areas for hiking, and have hiked both these trails many times, and blogged about them at least once in the couple of years since this site has been going; the hiking there never gets boring or old.

On Loving Mother Mountain

Behind Sandiaoling Waterfall

In fact my latest trip there, on the last Tuesday in April, was one of my most memorable of all.   The spur to go hiking on Tuesday this time (when I’d normally being cooped up at home practicing piano for a future recital) was a recent message on the blog from an American called Anthony, who was in town for a week performing in a show (‘Tap Dogs:’ virtuoso, inventive and clever – thanks for the tickets mate!) and wanted to get out hiking.

On Mt Putuo

Mount Kinabalu (Malaysia)

St. John’s Peak

Climbing Hallasan and organising a summer trip to a few of China’s many incredible mountain landscapes has come has a timely reminder for me that Taiwan doesn’t (quite) have the monopoly on fantastic hiking opportunities in the Asia/Pacific area. My interest in hiking elsewhere in the region (and in other parts of the world) has far outstripped my actual experience of hiking in other countries hereabouts, but I thought I’d share another favorite, favorite place that I have climbed, the highest peak in Eastern Asia, the mighty Mount Kinabalu in Malaysian Borneo.

The Donkey’s Ears

Hua Shan and Huangshan: China’s Mystical Mountain Scenery at its Best

On Hua Shan South Peak, just above the notorious Plank Path (sometimes dubbed ‘the World’s Most Dangerous Trail’!)

I’m off to China this summer for the first time in four years to pay a return visit to a few of my (many, many) favorite destinations in this vast, vastly frustrating, but incomparably wonderous country, and planning for the trip has led me to think about the many fantastic hiking spots that I’ve explored in the country. I thought I’d briefly describe the peaks and other hiking destinations I’ve visited so far in the hope that it convinces someone to look further than the standard tourist sites and explore more of the riches that China has to offer the active tourist.  I’ll write in more detail about the main peaks I plan to revisit after my return, but in the meantime, here’s an appetizer of what you’re missing out on if you’ve never hiked in China beyond the tourist stretches of the Great Wall. And there’s so much more out there as well…. 

Hallasan: South Korea’s Highest Peak

The crater at the summit of Hallasan

The island of Jeju, Korea’s southernmost territory,  is a pretty interesting place. It gained a great deal of publicity a few months back when  it became (provisionally) one of the  ‘New 7Wonders of Nature’ in November 2011. The second in a continuing series (the ‘Seven Man-made Wonders’ were confirmed in 2007, and we have the ‘New Seven Wonders Cities’ to look forward to later this year), the official website for this harmless bagatelle amusingly states that the voting process will take “democracy to a new, global level.”  I think the choice of Wonders in both categories so far selected tells us more about national pride (or lack of it) and the power of the telephone vote than anything else. There’s no doubt though that Jeju (or at least its amazing volcanic landforms) is an extraordinary place.

The impressive cone of Sanbangsan, in the southwest corner of the island, rises above fields of canola flowers

  

Snow Mountain – third time lucky??

Near Snow Mountain East Peak, en route to 369 Hut

The one thing I absolutely detest about Taiwan (sometimes at least) is the damn weather here! Lousy conditions have turned many a promising hike into a wet and slippery trudge, have led to me cancelling scores of others, and  (three or four years ago) even contributed to my avoiding high mountain climbs for several years, after a miserable three-day trip into the mountains when a group of us were stranded in a cold, damp mountain hut for the duration of a continuous downpour that lasted a day and two full nights!

The trailhead, above Wuling Farm