The viewing tower atop Mount Daluntou

NOTE Tomorrow’s meeting time: 8 am at Jiantan MRT station ticket barrier.

I’ve stopped posting notice of new hikes up because the weather has been so nasty it’s hard to plan far in advance, but hope to start posting upcoming hikes up here once again. Anyway Tuesday the weather is looking OK, and I have a few photos of the place we’re exploring that are worth putting up here, so here goes.

In Pamir Park

   This MODERATE hike is in the Wuzhi Hills, just outside the southeast border of Yangmingshan National Park. We start at the unusual Pamir Park above Waishuangxi, and climb up the steep wooded ridge via a network of largely forgotten  dirt trails. At the top is a lovely wooded stream valley and a fine viewpoint from a huge outcrop of rock jutting out of the steep valley side.

On the trail

   Not far from here we reach Fengguikou at the highest part of the Taipei – Wanli road (on one of Taipei area’s best-known cycling routes) and, assuming the weather is holding out, we’ll connect with the main peaks of the Wuzhi (Five Finger) ridge: Daluntou and Dalunwei. These are baby peaks by Yangmingshan standards, and this second part of the trail will be on surfaced paths and raised wooden boardwalks (i.e. not muddy) but it’s a surprisingly lovely walk, if much more popular than the little-explored first half of the walk.

A magnificent viewpoint near the highest point of the hike

   This is a hike in two halves, and you should be prepared for some rough dirt paths, a fair bit of climbing, a stream or two to cross (without a bridge) and of course mud. The second half is a lot simpler, although expect steps and some more climbing here as well. This last half of the walk has many options – the favorite would be to descend to Neihu via the very popular trail on Jinmian, with the rocky climb down at the end, but what we do is (as usual these days) dependant on weather and time.  

A viewpoint near Mt Daluntou

   I’ll post the meeting time etc up tonight or tomorrow morning, but it will be Jiantan MRT Station north exit (the one for the bus stops and Shilin Night Market) at around 8 am. I’ll check the bus time and get the exact meeting time posted up later.

On the trail above Pamir Park

Meanwhile here’s a few photos from previous walks, to whet your appetite!

Part of the very popular and fun rock-face trail down from Mt Jinmian to Neihu

Mount Daluntou

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Climbing the easiest (!) of the five routes up the Nangang Cliff

The natural cleft known as 'A Thread of Sky'

Despite the horrible weather, there have been a few breaks in the rain, and since I’ve had an unusual amount of free time (few piano students over the Christmas hols, and no way to practice my own piano, since my right little finger is still too tender to play) there have been a couple of chances to get out hiking – if only in the area around the city.

Silver Stream Cave

   Joining Stu, Ross and co. from Taiwan Adventures  on one of their group hikes on Christmas Eve, we went to one of my favorite places around the city, Silver Stream Cave, but by a completely different route from the one I usually take. I still much prefer my usual (far wilder and more natural) route, but that would have been much too muddy after all the recent rains. Anyway, the hike was billed as a ‘social’ hike, and was as much about networking (and possibly hooking up – it looked like there was a little of both going on), and all in all it was great fun.

In Silver Stream Cave

     Actually I was so busy trying to be social that I became completely disoriented and it was only when we actually reached the base of the waterfall itself that I realised that we’d been following the route I know so well – from the opposite direction – for the last ten minutes. Apart from those ten minutes however the trails were all quite new to me – a reminder (as if I needed reminding) that there’s always tons of new routes to discover in the Taipei area.

It's a simple but fun climb to the top of Tiger Mountain

The view over Taipei from little Tiger Mountain rivals the one from the much more popular Elephant Mountain

I’ve been meaning to return to the Four Beasts area (the pair of ridges that rise above Taipei 101 in east Taipei) for a while, and as luck would have it, a lack of hikers meant we postponed this week’s weekday hike to the area until Wednesday 28th, which will surely go down as one of the finest-weather days of the entire winter.

The first of the many rock faces of the morning's hike

Higher up, the scrambles become more tricky

The second of five routes up the final cliff; to my great shame I chickened out of this one and walked ten minutes along the bottom of the cliff to the easier (and safer!) route at the far end...

The fifth route (of five) up Nangang Cliff is the easiest, but it's also great fun to climb, up a long, steep cliff face, topped by this ladder

We were just a small group meeting at Houshanpi MRT station, but the sky was cloudless and the temperature almost spring-like. The Four Beasts is a wonderful area to explore any day (be sure to try to get further than the standard ascent of Elephant Mountain), but today it was a really memorable. There’s nowhere within easy reach of the Taipei MRT network (and actually there’s nowhere in the city, full stop) that approaches this little range of rocky, wooded peaks for sheer variety. From challenging (and fun) rocky cliffs (several are near-vertical and present one of the stiffest challenges to hikers of any trail in the whole Taipei area) to the mass of charming, colorful and occasionally bizarre man-made constructions dotting the wooded cliffs, there’s a wealth of things to discover.

Nine-Five Mountain, the highest point in the hills at a humble 375 meters

View from Mount Nangang

The summit of Thumb Mountain

The most famous spot on the Four Beasts: the Big Rocks viewpoint just below the summit of Elephant Mountain (photo taken earlier this year)

The steep and easily-missed path climbing to the top of little Lion Mountain

Panther Mountain (photo taken January 2011)

Today we basically followed what I like to call the ’Grand Circuit,’ a 4-5 hour loop combining all seven main peaks of the two ridges that I worked out for Taipei  Escapes 2, but it’s hard to go wrong wherever you hike here – and impossible to get lost – simply head to Taipei City Hall, Yongchun or Houshanpi MRT stations (the last is probably the closest), walk towards the wooded peaks to the south and start exploring. There’s an extraordinary range of curious attractions, natural beauty and trails of all standards here.

Just keep reminding yourself you’re still in the city!

GETTING THERE:

Four Beasts Mountains are easily reached (as I mentioned above) from Taipei City Hall, Yongchun or Houshanpi, and the trailheads are kind-of-signposted from there, although it’ll take a bit of trial-and-error to find them; Tiger Mountain trailhead, in the back of a large temple, is especially tricky to find – take a good map  (or a copy of Taipei Escapes book 2!) if possible.

   Silver Stream Cave can be reached from at least three places. The walk I did with Taipei Adventures started at the end of shuttle bus 9副 and 9 區, but these are very uncommon (each only running 2 services in the morning). It’s much more convenient to take (as we did) a taxi from Xindian District Office (about NT$120) to Daxiangshan (大香山), and follow the signs for first U-Theater (the drumming troupe rehearse and perform in a stage in the woods deep in the hills) then to Silver Stream Cave, which the local authorities Romanized directly from the Chinese characters as something like ‘Yinghedong’ which means nothing to most Westerners or Chinese alike.

   Alternatively, a more adventurous route to Silver Stream Cave is described in Taipei Escapes 2.

Taipei Adventures is a new company set up by Stu and Phil Dawson, Ross Tweedie, and Neil Wade. Apart from leading trips into the high mountains (their Snow Mountain trip is a regular event at the moment) and offering online and iPhone guides to Taiwan, run free day-hikes, easy to strenuous, around the Taipei area.  Click on the link above to get to their website, or here to get to their online Taiwan guide.

Emerald Mountain Waterfall, just above Tianmu

I find it amazing (although, for selfish reasons, I think it’s also very fortunate!) that almost all of Tianmu’s health-conscious inhabitants (and indeed many residents from elsewhere in Taipei as well) limit their longer walks in the area almost exclusively to that long, dull trudge variously known as the Tianmu Steps, the Pipeline Trail or Tianmu Old Trail. It’s not a bad way to get from Tianmu onto the mountainside, and after the steps the contour path along the steep hillside is admittedly very attractive, with its wide views over the city, but the fact is there are (at least) another three ways to get from Tianmu up onto the Chinese Culture University area of the mountain by footpath or trail, and two of them make for an excellent loop walk, which a couple of us enjoyed the other day, during an expected and welcome break in the long streak of thoroughly grotty weather we’ve been slogging though the last couple of months.

   By far the roughest, most natural and most interesting of the four Tianmu-YMS routes, the White Cloud Hill Trail, which starts at the very end of Dexing East Road, is tricky to find. I’d publish the exact directions here, but sorry! – I’d best not play even a small part in turning this little-known delight into a popular favorite; in any event the route is described in detail in Yangmingshan: the Guide (on page 109).  

At the new start of the White Cloud Trail

 A (luckily short-lived) setback to our plans at the very beginning of the hike was waiting for us at the original, number 21  trailhead of the White Cloud Hill Trail (just before point 2 in the route description) – it’s locked up behind a tall gate and this short stretch of the trail is now inaccessible. As we were examining possible ways to creep through or climb over  un-noticed, an elderly local lady appeared, but far giving us the good telling off I was half expecting, she explained that the owners of the house next to the trail had – for no good reason she could find – blocked the entrance themselves. She continued explaining the situation in a mixture of Chinese and Taiwanese for the next 4 or 5 minutes until we  finally broke free, preparing to tackle the alternative, less interesting, route along the narrow road that runs basically parallel to the obstructed path.

On the lovely White Cloud Trail, which climbs from Tianmu onto Yangmingshan

In Taiwan, when one trail is blocked, wiped out by a landslide, or gets obstructed by fallen trees or whatnot, another route or a diversion is rarely long in being found, and sure enough, after walking about 10 minutes up the road (simply keep straight ahead past the old trailhead and the water conduit and follow the road ahead, soon steeply uphill), plastic ribbons mark the new trailhead, on the left of the road beside a metal plaque explaining the history of the adjacent, protected  Qing-dynasty era tomb of Pan Gongchou.

Near the top of White Cloud Hill, close to the Chinese Culture University on Yangmingshan

The dirt trail drops down to cross a stream, balancing on a narrow strip of metal that serves as a bridge, then climbs up the opposite bank into the woods. Keep right at the allotment at the top, and the original path is picked up, climbing into the woods, soon along the top of a vertical cliff, offering  fine views in places through the trees over Tianmu and beyond.  

   Finally descending to a road, it’s a short downhill walk until the tarmac ends and the trail to the top of the main ridge begins. The trail is a little unclear at first (look for rough stone steps on the right, just after the road ends) but in a few moments it’s clear, climbing quite steeply through several attractive bamboo groves and woodland dotted with fine old camphor trees.

The famous view of Taipei, from Huagang Viewpoint, right in front of the Chinese Culture University

At the top the trail joins a track offering magnificent views over Taipei city, although the developers have been busy here since my last visit perhaps five years ago, and a small pocket of the original woodland has been cleared to make way for what looks like a plant nursery, growing conifers.

   In another 10 minutes we’re in Huagang, on the edge of the precipitous escarpment in front of the Chinese Culture University, enjoying one of Taipei area’s most magnificent panoramas, with the whole of Taipei laid out below, spread out beneath a huge, thin blanket of cloud which cuts Taipei 101  in half,  just its summit spire poking out the top.

This attractive trail along the Huangxi Stream makes a useful link between the White Cloud and Banling Trails

The way ahead is straight through the huge campus of the Chinese Culture University, a surprisingly pleasant return to civilization, with its fine, classical Chinese-inspired architecture, santa hat-wearing students and makeshift stalls (staffed by other festively dressed youngsters) hawking festive goodies, although I never worked out the reason for the conspicuous hand-colored sign in front of one, proclaiming “WOW!  CLOUD” …

   Once through the university campus, take a left and this road drops stiffly down to the upper trailhead of the (in)famous Tianmu steps (or whatever you call them). Giving this over-used trail a wide berth, a few minutes further along the road we joined the familiar but less crowded stone trail beside the beautiful Huangxi stream, its waters carrying minerals from various hot-springs above, which stain the rocks of the riverbed a rich, bright coppery-orange color. And it’s not just the lovely colors that make this a particularly scenic spot for a walk. A little downstream is Shamao Waterfall (the first of two fine falls on the stream), although since the old, easy routes to it were blocked a decade ago getting to the base of it requires a further hour of walking from this point.

On the Banling Trail

Keeping right at junctions, the path finally joins Shamao Road just a few minutes below the 260/R5/ 108 bus station on Yangmingshan. Making a beeline for Yangmingshan Park and the famous Flower Clock, it’s only another five minutes or so to the upper trailhead of Banling (or Huangling) Old Trail., which starts out as a delightful dirt trail through the woods, skirting the base of steep Mt Shamao. 

Still on the Banling Trail

After crossing the road, the trail reverts to steps and a slippery concrete path, but halfway down, a turn leads in ten minutes into the deep gorge of the Huangxi stream below the upper waterfall, and my confirmed favorite spot in all the Tianmu area. Although well-enough known among locals and some foreign residents, this spot continues to feel like a forgotten place - a real secret valley – and it always seems to be deserted when I visit. About halfway up the gorge, the trail climbs up beside a small waterfall, then at a much higher level continues to contour the west face of thickly wooded, unspoilt gorge to end, rather surprisingly at a gate fixed to the rock face beside the narrow water channel.

The finest part of the Banling Trail is this marvellous side-trip out to Shamao Waterfall, along surely the most peaceful stretch of path in the Tianmu area

On the aqueduct path, returning from Shaomao Waterfall

En route to Shamao Waterfall

Ignoring the sign not to enter (as one tends to do in Taiwan…), the gate is an easy obstacle to pass, and immediately after it Shamao Waterfall can be seen plunging over rocks into the gorge. A disused footbridge and a small stone building detract a little from the natural beauty of the scene, but this is still an absolutely enchanting place, and today, with the stream running high after all the recent rain, and the red, orange and yellow leaves of a large maple tree arching over the glen beneath the falls carpeting the river bank, it was positively magical.

Immediately before the waterfall the way is blocked by a gate (easily bypassed!)

Shamao Waterfall

The Huangxi below Emerald Peak Waterfall

After the idyllic twenty-minute walk back to the Baling Trail, the trail itself is pleasant but dull, descending through a few terraced fields and beside a minor stream to join a lane above Tianmu, now  just twenty minutes or so away.  

   Before returning to the city though, a quick side-trip leads up the Huangxi to the lower and better-known of its two falls, Emerald Peak Waterfall. Like Shaomao Falls above, this fine small fall has suffered at the hands of aesthetically challenged humans – lengths of irrigation piping are draped down the cliff faces on either side of the main plunge, but even these fail to destroy the beauty of this very fine little place. Today, with the water relatively high, it was actually mildly dramatic, forcing its way powerfully through the cleft at the head of the falls and plunging into the big pool at their base, and the 15-minute walk to them is a finer, much more scenic short stroll than I remember. A trail from the falls continues up the side of the gorge to connect with the crowds on the Tianmu Old Trail itself, but we retraced our steps beside the stream to return to the road for a final walk down to Tianmu and the 220 bus stop. On the way, we made one last stop to admire the fine old arched footbridge over the river just a few minutes downstream from the Emerald Mountain Waterfall trailhead. Although it’s almost beside the road, the bridge is virtually hidden in undergrowth these days, and easily missed. Look out for it just above the point where the modern road crosses the Huangxi stream.

This lovely old arched bridged spans the Huangxi near the road down to Tianmu after the end of the Baling Trail

GETTING THERE:

Both the White Cloud Hill Trail and Banling Trail are within easy walking distance of central Tianmu, but for full route directions of both routes (sorry!) see Yangmingshan: the Guide (pages 109 and 112).

Shamao Waterfall

At the foot of Shaomao Waterfall

Slipping around on the Mudbath Trail

One of the gentler stretches of the Jiaokeng Old Trail

One of the abandoned stone houses near the path: atmospheric ruins like this are common beside Yangmingshan's many old trails

 

You'll know you're still on the Jiao Keng Old Trail once you've forded the stream three times...

The final struggle: finding a way through the silver grass on Buffalo Meadow in bad weather

The awesome Mount Dabajian (taken on a 1999 hike!)

Hot on the trail of the great treks we did on Chilai and Nanhuda Mountains in November, I’ve been busy planning a series of Winter/Spring trips to the high mountains. I’ve come up with four routes for starters, with provisional plans for a fifth if it can be arranged. Here’s the rundown. All willing and EXPERIENCED hikers are welcome, and all you have to do is pay your share of the costs for the trip (there’s no organization fee) but numbers for all trips will be limited. Let me know if you’re interested! The following dates are provisional, but unless something bad happens (or I get an offer to do another recital!) these dates should be safe.

Snow Mountain, viewed from the East Peak (2003 picture)

 1. March 10th-11th (Saturday-Sunday, leaving Friday evening at 8pm) Mt Junda and Mt Xiluanda (郡大山、西巒大山; 3,292 meters and 3,081 meters; MODERATELY STRENUOUS)

This trip, organized by the Chinese hiking group Shanling (we climbed Mt Chilai with them; the cost of this trip is NT$3,800 inclusive of food, transport, basically everything) bags two less well-known ‘Top Hundred’ (bai yue) summits. The first is one of the easiest of the high mountains to climb, just two hours from the forest road trailhead, but this two-day trip is no walk-in-the-park, as the second peak is a much longer proposition, and we could be walking 8-10 hours each day.

The 'White Forest' on the way up Snow Mountain (taken in 2003)

2. March 30 – April 1^st (Friday to Sunday, leaving Thursday evening at 8pm) Snow Mountain East, Main and North Peaks, plus Mount Zijiayangda  (雪山主北東峰, 志佳陽大山; STRENUOUS)

This three-day loop trip combines the usual, relatively easy ascent of Snow Mountain (the second highest mountain in Taiwan) and the East Peak (passed on the way to the main peak) with two less-often climbed summits. Snow Mountain North Peak is the only ‘Top Hundred’ peak actually on the renowned Holy Ridge. Descending from Snow Mountain Main Peak we descend via another trail to its south, passing over a fourth Bai yue, Mount Zijaiyangda, on the way down to rejoin the road and civilization somewhat south of Wuling Farm. This trip is once again organized by Shanling Hiking Group (NT$3,800). Only strong hikers on this one. There’s quite a bit of ground to cover in three days, and I imagine it’s going to be a lot harder than the simple Snow Mountain summit there-and-back trip.

Rhododendrons on Hohuan East Peak (April 2011)

 3.  Mid April: Sacred Ridge, Wuling Four Peaks, Dabajianshan (STRENUOUS)

There’s no definite date set for this five-day trip yet, as we’ll be organizing this by ourselves (with help from Brian Perry or Richard Foster, I hope), but I plan it’ll be on the second or third weekend in April, leaving on Thursday morning and returning Monday evening (or leaving Wednesday  morning and returning Sunday evening etc… it’s flexible). The trip will begin at Wuling Farm in the south, from where we’ll bag the Wuling Four Peaks (the trip planned for late November this year which was cancelled when I suddenly found my professional musical services were needed that weekend!). From there the plan is to bypass the most dangerous part of the Holy Ridge (west of Mount Pingtian) and instead take the useful trail that avoids the worst cliffs, passes the highest source of the Danshui River, and joins the Holy Ridge Trail somewhat south of the awesome Mount Dabajian. To finish we’ll bag Daba, Xiaoba and the two other nearby Top Hundred peaks before descending to Gwangwu and returning through Hsinchu county to Taipei on the evening of the fifth day.

   This is a fairly major hike (probably similar in standard to the ones we did in November) and only  for hikers that are sure they can handle the conditions. I”ll need proof of experience for this one!

On the trail to Hohuan North Peak

4. Early-Mid May: Mt Hohuan peaks (FAIRLY EASY – MODERATE)

Another hike arranged by ourselves, this should be a relatively easy one. It takes two days to bag the five bai yue at Hohuan, and the best time of the year – by far – to be there is in May, when, global warming and fickle Mother Nature notwithstanding, the alpine rhododendrons should be in full bloom. I was there this year, a bit earlier, and it was already a magical place to be. We’ll be leaving Friday evening, and returning Sunday night, and the trip is OK for all reasonably fit hikers, and a great intro to Taiwan’s high mountain climbs. Three of the five peaks we climb are easy; the North and West Peaks are a lot further (be ready for a nine-hour day there-and-back, although that’s only what I’ve heard, as I haven’t been all the way yet), but not too hard, at least  by Taiwan standards.

5. Yushan (Jade Mountain) via Batungguan Old Trail (May/June; FAIRLY STRENUOUS)

Continuing the flower theme, this is the best time to tackle Jade Mountain from the east, when the alpine meadow at Batungguan is apparently bursting with the colors of countless alpine flowers. This is a three-four day hike, and we’ll have to arrange the time etc when I know more about the trip (never been further than Yinu Waterfall on the Batungguan trail). NOT the way to climb Yushan if you’re a first-timer: it’s much harder than the easy march up from Tatajia, but promises to be a great hike up for reasonably fit hikers. Hope also to do the North Peak of Yushan (where most photos of Yushan’s wonderful summit are taken – it’s a fabulous hike up there) and maybe the craggy East peak as well.

Dabajianshan in the early morning

Well, that’s the idea. More info on these as the plans develop. Let me know if you’re seriously interested.

Climbing the North Peak ridge (Day 2)

The trailhead, at Siyuan Yakou

So it was an amazing piece of luck (considering the whiteout conditions that accompanied us on the climb up Mount Chilai’s Main and North Peaks just the weekend before) to find the weather forecast promised some near-perfect conditions for our four-day march to the top over the Thanksgiving weekend.

   For awhile on the first day the forecast conditions didn’t bear out in practice on the ground. Leaving Tianmu by minibus at 5 am on the Thursday, it took four hours to make the journey through Yilan, and up the branch of the Central Cross-island Highway (route 7甲) to the trailhead at the pass, Siyuan Yakou (思源埡口). We were already in the clouds, and at around 2,000 meters, it was chilly and clammy. Not the best conditions to start my longest trek to date in Taiwan. 

The summit of Mount Nanhuda (3,742), the fifth highest mountain in Taiwan, and by common consent one of it's most beautiful

    The first part of the route doesn’t get easier either. Within the first 300 meters of the old, long-abandoned logging road that heads 6.8 kilometers into the mountains to reach the ‘official’ trailhead for climbing Nanhuda, we’ve crossed a swollen stream twice, and I’ve slipped on the slippery rocks and dunked one foot in the water, assuring wet feet for the rest of the day. On the map this route looks like a road, but in reality the track has long gone in most places, and there’s no way to get a motorbike more than a couple of meters off Route 7, let alone a bigger vehicle.

   About half-an-hour into the trip, at the 1.6 kilometer point, the first (and it turned out the longest and worst) of a series of landslides sent a makeshift trail climbing steeply up the wooded mountainside – a muddy clamber of five minutes or so that deflated spirits eager to get this lengthy, seven-kilometer prelude over and get onto the ‘real’ trail beyond. 

 

   At least we’d picked a great season to be here – the autumn tints in the trees overhanging the path were enchanting, and surpassed in sheer beauty perhaps only during May, when the rhododendrons are in bloom on the high summits ahead (still nearly twenty kilometers further down the trail!).

 

Autumn colors line the abandoned logging road at the start of the trek

 

 

After a slow and fitful start, we got into our rhythm and the kilometers started to mount up (the entire route up Nanhuda is usefully marked by posts every hundred meters: that’s over 240 posts!), our progress only briefly slowed by a sequence of small landslides, bypassed by temporary trails, tricky but brief scrambles with fixed ropes, and even a wooden ladder.

 

After about the five-kilometer point, the worst of the landslide sections were behind us, and as we gradually climbed, leaving the misty cloud below us, the sun began to break through and I finally began to really enjoy the walk.

   The last couple of kilometers passed lightly, admiring the russet tints of the trees and glimpses through the tree cover into a deep valley on our right, and around 10 am or so we reached the signpost marking the ‘true’ trailhead of Mount Nanhuda.

   From here the trail, until now level or gently rising, becomes a hard slog (at least while lugging 15kg backpacks), zigzagging straight up the steep, wooded mountainside. The hundred meter markers suddenly seem few and far between, and a rest is essential every couple of minutes, but the sun is shining, the sense of isolation and peace of the deep mountains is inspiring, and it feels great to be here!

 

A magnificent sea of clouds covers the valley of the Lanyang River in southern Yilan County, as seen from the trail on day 1

At the top we paused in a small patch of warm sunshine shining through the canopy of a coniferous forest, sitting on a soft carpet of pine needles, before resuming the climb, following the ridgeline uphill stiffly past a procession of ancient old trees, sometimes climbing up natural staircases made of their gnarled old roots.

   Not too far away we reach a tiny hikers’ hut near the first, minor summit on the route, Mount Duojiatun (多加屯山,  2,795 meters). It’s too low to be on the Big List, but the view from in front of the hut was the highlight, so far, of the hike, overlooking the deep gorge of the Lanyang River valley up which we’d toiled earlier today in the minibus while driving up from Yilan, buried in the damp, gloomy clouds. From way up here they took on a far more appealing appearance, transformed into a magical brilliant white sea under a bright blue, utterly cloudless sky.

First sight of the big mountains, at Yunling Hut, after the 11 kilometer mark (night one)

Past the little summit of Mount Duojiatun is the one truly monotonous, even unpleasant stretch of the entire 24 kilometer trail to Mount Nanhuda, as the trail climbs and drops (sometimes quite steeply) along the ridge through a thick sea of arrow bamboo. There are some fine, if fleeting, views into the Lanyang River Gorge well over a thousand meters below, and a few views of the higher mountains above on the other side, but mostly, it was a dull trudge for the next hour or two. In places the woody vegetation forms a tunnel over the trail, and the easiest way is to bend heads and pass underneath. The recent continuous rains meant almost all of this section had been whipped by countless hikers’ boots into a quagmire – a real mud bath - and it was a blessed relief to emerge at the next major landmark, a signposted junction pointing the way down into the valley on the right that gives access to the formidable rocky pyramid of Mount Zhongyangjian (中央尖山, 3,705 meters).

Yunling Hut (2,600 meters), our camp on the first and third nights of the trip

Sticking to the ridge-top trail here, it rises over a small, wooded peak, then drops down the other side for a few minutes to reach Yunling Hut, and the end of our first day on the mountain. In contrast to the drafty, leaky apology for a mountain hut at Chenggong on Mount Chilai, this one is big, light, airy and – for a Taiwanese mountain hut – positively luxurious, with plenty of room for the forty or so hikers that it’s designed for. It also gives partial views of rocky peaks further into the mountains. I rather embarrassingly wrote-off the rocky eminence that is a conspicuous sight from the hut as an insignificant peak; later it turned out to be mighty Mount Zhongyangjian, although admittedly it looks much, much more impressive from much further along the trail, at the summit of Nanhuda itself.

The second day of the hike passes through glorious open meadows such as this, with magnificent views of the surrounding 3,000-plus meter summits

After a surprisingly good night’s sleep (it helps that the hut is only at about (2,600 meters) we started the second day at the relatively civilized time of 6 am. The remaining hikers in the cabin, a Taiwanese group, had set off an hour earlier, yet seemed extraordinarily slow – we passed them even before reaching the first big peak of the day, Mount Nanhubei.  

   If we thought yesterday’s short, sharp hike was quite tough, today’s was still tougher, but even more stunning. To get to the fantastic views, though there was a short, sharp descent followed by the second long climb of the trip, up another endless wooded mountainside. At the end of this one, however, the trail emerges onto the high alpine pastures, Mounts Nanhuda and Zhongyangjian both pop into view (to be constant companions for the remainder of the route) and we bagged the first of the four Top Hundred peaks on this trip, Mt Shenmazhen (審馬陣山, 3,141 meters). It commands a good view north into Yilan, but in most ways it’s a thoroughly prosaic spot, and it’s hard to understand how this place was chosen for the Big List, when many other peaks are surely more deserving of inclusion.

Approaching Mount Nanhubei, the second peak on the trail on the 'top hundred' list

Beyond Mt Shenmazhen, the trail climbs steadily and continuously, mostly through high alpine pastures interspersed with small areas of rough woodland, and soon the trail strikes uphill to the end of the conspicuous steep ridge ahead, and the finer summit of Mount Nanhubei (南湖北山, 3,536 meters) , the second Listed summit of the trip.  Behind, across the great dividing valley in which Siyuan Yakou lies, the mountain buttress of the Holy Ridge, with the tooth-like tower of Dabajianshan and the fine, domed mass of Snow Mountain bookending it at either side, stole the attention every time I looked back.

For much of the second day we could admire the Sacred Ridge, Snow Mountain and Daba, silhouetted against the blue sky

The 360-degree view from the summit of Mount Nanhubei is awesome, although the rugged outlines of Mount Nanhuda and Zhongyangjian to the south briefly lost our full attention as we gazed at a fantastic sea – no, ocean- of billowing clouds  stretching away in the opposite direction as far as the eye could see.

Atop Mount Nanhubei, admiring yet another breathtaking sea of clouds

Leaving Mount Nanhubei, the terrain becomes both tougher and more exhilarating, as the trail follows the long, sawtooth ridge southwards towards Mount Nanhuda North Peak. The general trend is still to gain altitude, with a series of rocky small peaks to conquer, with fixed ropes, vertical drops and an awesome precipice on the left, dropping away in great expanses of near vertical scree into the lowlands to the east. It’s thrilling and very exhilarating hiking, but not difficult or especially strenuous coming on the heels of the more scary climbs at Mount Chilai the weekend before.  

 

Moving on from Mount Nanhubei

 

After Mount Nanhubei the going becomes several notches tougher, with a series of short rocky climbs to negotiate

 

Magnificent scenery en route to Mount Nanhubei North Peak

Strangely beautiful stunted trees, their trunks bent grotesquely by the gales that blow over the side of the cliff below, live a hard life in relatively sheltered spots along the ridge, while low hummocks of rhododendron bushes cling to the rocky mountainside. This must be an incredible place to be while they’re flowering, during May, and a really wild, forbidding place during a wind-blasted storm. Today though, the fantastic weather is holding up and it was a marvellous, inspiring walk. 

On the North Peak ridge

  

As the long second day draws on, the scenery just gets better and better ...

 

Finally we reached the rocky little summit of Mt Nanhuda North Peak (南湖大山北峰, 3,592 meters), where the famous glacier-cut valleys below the summit of Mount Nanhuda itself finally, magically appeared at our feet. It’s the best moment so far on the hike.

Finally Mount Nanhuda North Peak, unaccountably missing from the Top Hundred list

 

It's only at the North Peak that Nanhuda's famous glacier eroded twin valleys come into view, and it's a thoroughly magical moment!

After a long rest, marvelling at the grandeur of the surroundings, we start the final thirty-minute clamber down to Nanhu Hut, clearly visible below, at the foot of the summit ridge of the main peak of Mt Nanhuda. It’s a steep and awkward scramble (I was grateful for the fixed ropes!) down a mighty talus slope; even as I stumbled down, I couldn’t help but think how much tougher it would be climbing back up here on our retreat tomorrow….  

The last half-hour of day two involves a steep and tiring clamber down a huge scree slope into the deep corrie beneath the summit ridge of Mount Nanhuda

Once safely down, Nanhu Hut proved perfectly comfortable – a slightly smaller, slightly less roomy copy of the Yunling Hut further down the mountain. The main problem was that the hut was officially fully booked and there was a good chance we’d all be sleeping outside. We’d come prepared for this, with tents, but after arriving, the cold, thin air and the promise of a long, freezing night made the hut somehow seem far more inviting than the prospect of sleeping under canvas. 

    In the end, five or six spots did open up in the hut, and half of us ended up sleeping inside, while the remainder camped out.

   In the end sleeping in the hut turned out to be the wrong decision. Up here in the remoteness of the high mountains, life is pared down to its bare essentials. Normal life is left far behind, and within an hour of the sun going down, everyone is in bed trying to get through the long, long night. In late November, this means everyone is in their sleeping bags by 6:30 or 7 pm at the latest. The surrounding intense calm and darkness is palpable, and the city and everyday life seem light years away. Laying in my bag (at least it’s warm enough!) my mind boggles as I consider that on any other Friday at this time of the evening I’d still be teaching, and would head home to surf the Internet or do some work, only heading to bed four or five hours later! It’s quite impossible to reconcile my experience in this terribly remote spot with  the life I know so well back in Taipei, just eighty kilometers north of here, and continuing as normal, even as I lay there. It might as well be another world.

   The inevitable long, long nights are the only aspect of multi-day hikes in the mountains that I truly find hard to take. Claustrophobic nightmare-nights-that-never-seem-to-end (the worst to date have been sanity-threatening experiences in the cramped Yuanfeng hut near Yushan South Peak and on Mount Fuji in Japan). These two have, I think, left me permanently scarred, but the ordeal does become more bearable the more you face it – and the more prepared you are for it. Certainly the twelve hours cramped up in Nanhu Hut wasn’t pleasant – one hiker opposite was snoring like a fog horn and the old bloke trying to sleep next to me was so affected by the high altitude that at one time I thought he’d either throw-up all over me or have a heart attack – but it’s amazing how, with experience, you find ways to get through the night. Practice, I suppose, makes perfect.

Nanhu Hut, at about 3,300 meters, lies in a magnificent position between Nanhu Main and East Peaks

Meanwhile the walk up here, although quite steep and unrelenting, had taken only about seven hours, and it was not yet three pm, so I passed the couple of remaining hours before dark exploring the lovely stream that tumbles down the rocky slopes behind the hut, sheltering more of those artistically stunted conifers that are a familiar feature in many of Taiwan’s high mountains.  After about twenty minutes of clambering, the stream emerged onto the upper of the two glacial valleys – an extraordinary moonscape of rock and sandy soil almost totally devoid of greenery.

The little stream which flows down from the upper corrie above to the hut and provides its water supply makes for a beautiful short stroll

Not-so-well rested, we greeted day three at 6 am and eagerly awaited daylight with a quick breakfast. By 7 am we had our day packs packed and were marching up the trail through  the moonscape of the upper valley below the crumbling cliffs of Mount Nanhuda East Peak.

  

Day three, and, travelling light, we head for Mount Nanhuda East Peak

It was good to have the lightest of backpacks as we climbed through the thin air, and we made the saddle between the Main and East Peaks in good time, to be confronted with a panorama over the barren wilderness of the Nanhuda back peaks (Mts Baba and Mabisan, and Nanhuda South Peak, all of which would have to wait for another visit).

The East Peak is gained by climbing up its steep, crumbly back face, avoiding the cliffs round the front

Nearly there....

The trail now veers left, striking up the ice-shattered screes behind the East Peak, then, meeting the ridge, following it up beside thrilling sheer cliffs to the summit. An utterly inspirational place in its uncompromising barreness! 

The summit of Mount Nanhuda East Peak

 

Crossing the saddle between the East and Main Peaks of Mount Nanhuda

It would have been hard to leave the summit were it not for the freezing wind buffeting us and the prospect of Mount Nanhuda itself, directly opposite. We could even see the twin figures of two of our party, who had split off early in sly bid to be first to the top of the Big One!

The final climb to the summit

 

The final climb to the summit of Mount Nanhuda is steep and fun, with mighty, smooth sloping faces of ice-shattered rock, and some easy but exciting rock scrambling towards the top. There are several false summits to contend with. The true summit, when it finally comes, is a surprisingly mild little rise, free from the rock faces and sheer drops that grace the lower reaches of the ridge. 

The landscape near the summit, scoured by ancient glaciers, is quite unearthly in places

The view from the top though, is simply stunning! An extraordinary panorama unmatched by any I’ve seen in Taiwan so far, not only for the stark, wild beauty of splintered rock and jagged, ice-carved peaks, but also because of the complete absence anywhere in the 360-degree field of view of anything manmade (apart from the summit plaque).  Mount Nanhuda is very far from any road and farther still from any settlement or tourist development.

The summit of Mount Nanhuda, with the pyramid of formidable Mount Zhongyangjian in the distance

 Just beyond the summit we found a huge cleft rock, a perfect natural chair commanding the best view one could wish to sit and contemplate the scene. The weather was finally closing in – Snow Mountain and the Holy Ridge were already shrouded in thick cloud and squally winds were blowing a light dusting of snow in our faces, but there was no question of heading down until we’d fully taken in this magnificent place.

 

The natural chair at the summit of Mount Nanhuda - feels like I'm on top of the world!

 

The moonscape around Mount Nanhuda, as seen from the summit

By around 10 am we were back in the valley at the foot of the twin peaks at Nanhu Hut, boiling water for a hot drink and preparing for the 23 kilometer hike back to civilization. It was heavily overcast by now, with a brooding atmosphere absolutely right for this starkly grand place, but after the punishing scramble back up the talus slope to the North Peak, we made good time negotiating the fun rocky pitches of the North Peak ridge, and met several parties climbing up from Yunling Hut. I privately thanked my lucky stars that we too didn’t start a day later. We somehow caught the short window of fine weather just right.  

   It’s a lot quicker heading down, and I arrived at Yunling Hut at the usual arrival time for this trip of about 3 pm – plenty of time to organise myself for a third night in the hills and to contemplate the trip – and our luck. As we headed down the mountain on the fourth and last day, bound for the trailhead and a waiting minibus, it was raining lightly and clouds blotted out the view from the hut of the peak that is in fact Mount Zhongyangjian.

 

   We couldn’t have hoped for a better trip!

 

Loads more photos of the trip are on my Flickr page at http://www.flickr.com/photos/29712358@N04/sets/72157628261150891/

The long way back down ... (back on the North Peak ridge, later on Day Three)

CLIMBING MOUNT NANHUDA

 

Mount Nanhuda is best attempted only after climbing a few much easier peaks like Yushan, Snow Mountain or the Hohuanshan peaks. The rocky scrambles and the terrain in general are certainly a lot easier to negotiate than on Chilai North and Main Peaks, but it’s a long, long trek, mostly uphill (about 48 kilometers return) and you’ll need a lot of stamina and determination to get through some of the harder sections. Unlike on Chilai, with its treacherous side trails where there’s a real chance of getting lost, the route up Nanhuda is pretty clear all the way, and a good map was quite adequate for us to find the way. Perhaps the greatest challenge on Nanhuda is getting good weather. We were supremely lucky, but I’ve spoken to local hikers who have had to postpone the trip several times before they finally summited.

One of Taiwan’s more notorious high mountains, reams have been written about ‘black’ Chilai and it’s been a goal of mine to climb it for myself for many years. About a decade ago, during my first spate of high mountain climbs, I did almost tackle it with a local hiking club, but I came down with a nasty cold two days before the off and missed the trip.

   The problem with Mount Chilai (or Qilai) is probably less due to the actual dangers of climbing it (although the North Peak does have a few dicey moments!) than with the experience (or lack of) among the people who used to climb it. For some strange reason Mount Chilai was once a favorite of student hiking clubs. It seems the nearby Hohuan Mountains (five 3,000 meter peaks in two easy days – the perfect kick-start to anyone’s Baiyue (‘hundred peaks’) collection!) were obviously not challenging enough.  Now Chilai would be fine for hikers with reasonable experience: climbing say Yushan and Snow Mountain first together with some rock scrambling around Taipei such as at Wuliaojian or Full Moon Mountain would, I think, be a minimum requirement for anyone contemplating coming here. Tragically, for whatever reason, an alarming number of hikers either fell off the mountain’s awesome, cloud-kissing precipices or took the wrong trail in the expanse of low arrow bamboo that cushions the summit ridge and got lost, maybe to perish when the notoriously unpredictable weather here took a turn for the worse.

At the Trailhead on Day 1

All in all, Chilai has perhaps the worst reputation of any mountain in Taiwan, which we were reminded of at an info board at the trailhead to the mountain, near the top of Route 14 at Mount Hohuan. The English version of the sign talked about how the mountain is haunted by the tears of relatives who lost loved ones on the mountain, or some such melodramatic language. It was all very Taiwanese in its flowery rhetoric, but it also made me at least consider just what was lying in wait for us up there behind the clouds.

   Chilai needs three full days, as although the route is quite short in kilometers it’s a steep, rough and tiring climb. We travelled down in a minibus on Thursday night, staying in a basic homestay near Lushan Hot Springs whose most memorable feature were the pillow cases we slept on, which for some bizarre reason were emblazoned with the phrase ‘Love Molasses’.

Only in Taiwan!

   The weather forecast was pretty dire for the three days we were climbing, but our guide (and a guide is strongly recommended here, as there are several places on the summit ridge where there’s a 50/50 chance of taking the wrong trail and getting possibly very lost – signage up there is not so hot) reassured us that the really bad weather wouldn’t come in until the afternoon of the second day, when we’d be safely coming down from the ridge after bagging our two objectives: Chilai North and Main Peaks.

  The weather was surprisingly good as we set off from the trailhead on Friday morning about 8:30. The mountain was only partially hidden behind the clouds, and the walk, first level, then up over the little grassy peak of Little Chilai (小奇, even casting off our heavy backpacks and prancing up the final few meters to the top) was easy and very scenic, across beautiful green meadows covered in thick, low hummocks of dwarf arrow bamboo.

After Little Chilai, the trail drops into the deep valley seperating Mount Hohuan from Chilai, making for atiring return climb at the end of the hike!

   After Little Chilai, the trail – still pretty clear and smooth – descends for an hour or more down into the deep valley dividing the Hohuan and Chilai ridges, and the small, damp and dark Black Water Pond Hut, 3.8 kilometers from the trailhead.

   After a quick rest we continued and almost immediately the trail starts climbing and becomes more strenuous. It’s not especially steep, but pretty rough, with numerous muddy hauls up rough banks or up ‘ladders’ of tree roots. The forest though is beautiful, especially in the gathering mist (or rather cloud) that was now surrounding us.

The trail on the way up to Chenggong Hut, Day 1

   After an hour of clambering and slipping up the muddy, rocky hillside and down the other side, we reached our sleeping place for the next two nights, Chenggong Hut (成功山屋), beside a picturesque mountain stream. It was only lunchtime, so we had a free afternoon, which we spent ambling up the rock-choked streambed to a pretty small waterfall.

Sunset on Day 1

    After 5 pm the thick mist miraculously cleared to reveal one of the most spectacular, if ominous, sunsets I’ve ever seen. The sun, coincidentally shining directly through the crack of the narrow, wooded valley in which the hut lay, set below the horizon in a sea of fiery orange which was quite unforgettable, although also a little unsettling.

   Unfortunately that was the last we saw of the sun until - I swear! – the moment I returned to the van at the end of the hike two days later, when it emerged through the clouds and Mount Chilai, for the first time on the trip, revealed itself briefly to us from behind a thick blanket of cloud.  The remainder of the weekend served up some fairly wild weather of thick, billowing water vapor which kept us permanently soaked, and awesome, gale-force winds.

   Day two, Saturday, the BIG day, started at 3 am with an unfortunate accident, after one of those endless, uncomfortable, near-sleepless mountain-hut nights that always temporarily make me swear to never climb in the mountains again.

   Using the long-drop loo down the path from the hut, in my early morning daze I thoughtlessly put my hand out behind me to lean against the aluminium wall of the makeshift toilet shed to stabilize myself while I did what I had to do, but as soon as I leaned my weight against the metal panel of the wall, the whole thing came crashing down, and I landed heavily on my right hand, cutting the palm slightly and heavily bruising the side below the pinky. It was very painful, but only caused real concern when it became swollen and very sore the following day, after putting up with hours of abuse, hauling on ropes up and down the mountain.  We actually had unusually bad luck with toilets on this trip: Ashley, our Canadian contingent on this trip, slipped on the way to the bathroom on the first night and gashed her hand rather badly on a rock; fortunately fellow climbing team member Greg  ’The Doc’ Meier was on hand to dress the wound, and with the application of some miracle-working Chinese medicine powder called Yunnan Baiyao (雲南白藥) stemmed the bleeding and averted a small medical crisis.

The stream above Chenggong Hut (Day 1)

   Notwithstanding these early misadventures, the ascent of Mount Chilai only really gets started after Chenggong Hut;  the terrain above the hut is quite a bit harder than the first, easy prelude of the first 4.8 kilometers. After Chenggong Hut (which we left at 4 am), it’s basically straight up, and we were glad to have only day packs. It’s a kilometer or so up to the first fork, where we turned left. It’s now steeper than ever – mostly on rough, steep scree or up short but very rough rocky pitches, and in the dark quite an adventure. Far easier, however, than the trail to the right, which heads up to the hut up on Chilai main ridge: we enjoyed that stretch of ‘trail’ (perhaps the toughest one kilometer of the whole trip) on the way back at the end of the summit assault.

Small waterfall above Chenggong Hut

   The sky was just lightening as we reached the expanse of arrow bamboo that covers the ridge. The world was reduced to a thick, billowing  mass of water vapor (we were deep in the clouds), whipped into a face-stinging frenzy by gusts of gale-force wind. On the way up the guide had warned us it was probably too dangerous to try to summit either peak, since the wind was too strong, but up on the top it wasn’t quite as bad as expected, and at the next junction we turned left and headed for the North Peak, Chilai’s more challenging climb.

Climbing Chilai North Peak

This is an astonishing stretch, and I’d bet source of most of the horror stories and deaths on the mountain. Shortly the trail lays beside a couple of truly awe-inspiring sheer cliff edges, and although the trail was level for once the fixed ropes proved an essential safety precaution in the turbulent winds blowing on and off the astonishing precipices, which fell away right beside our feet  in a few places.

   Shortly the path leads away from the brink, and descends round the back below shapely cliffs and pinnacles before striking suddenly up the precipitous rocky bluff to Chilai North Peak (3,607 meters). In fine, calm weather,  I can imagine this would be a fantastically exhilarating and fun experience, hauling up the rock faces on the fixed ropes which are strung up the whole ascent. Today, lashed by gales and soaked in cloud-water, it was a wrestle with a nature every bit as angry and wild as I’ve ever experienced her.

At one point, before the climb to the summit of the pyramid of rock that forms the peak, I hauled myself up a rockface straight into a broken tree branch, which left a bleeding, 2 inch-long scratch on my forehead that the others later christened my ‘Harry Potter’ scar. Up here though we’ve changed, become different people; priorities have changed, the adrenaline is streaming and the determination to conquer so strong that I simply laugh it off (it doesn’t hurt much anyway) and we continue towards the top.

   After the thrill and exertion of the climb, it’s almost a disappointment to see the flat, grassy area at the top, and the large, carefully engraved plaque at the summit. In any event we’re not long there. After a quick, triumphal photo at the summit plaque the howling wind and rain send us back over the edge, gingerly working our way down the rock faces and along the edge of dizzying cliffs to the relative safety of the ridge path below.

   The trail south along the ridge towards Chilai Main Peak is remarkably gentle and undulating for this mountain, with fantastic views (I assume) down the precipitous, arrow bamboo-covered slopes that fall away below the path into the valley to the west, while in places there are glimpses of the fearful Chilai cliffs that drop away on the other side. At intervals we pass through wind funnels where all traces of vegetation have been blasted away by the howling gales that roar through. These places are utterly unearthly, particularly as we force our way through, holding the fixed rope for protection against being blown off the ridge as we’re buffeted by the incredible force of wind, which is blowing the steadily increasing rain upwards and over the lip of the cliffs into our faces.

One of the wind-blasted moonscapes along the trail between Chilai North and Main Peaks

   Finally the trail heads straight into the tempest, veering around to the right of a great dome of a peak, making its way cautiously around the wind-blasted scree slopes at the top of the mighty cliffs of Chilai’s eastern face, and in a few minutes a large metal sign – which would be more at home in a Taipei city street than in this wild and forbidding place – points the way straight up the rocky bluff to the summit of Chilai Main Peak (3,560 meters). We’ve been hard at it for 5 or 6 hours already (it’s about two hours’ trek here from the junction below Chilai North Peak) and climbing up the rock faces to the summit of the main peak, although a good bit simpler than on the earlier Peak, was a punishing and exhausting challenge - especially since the weather had deteriorated even further.

   Once again the summit is a strange surprise. After battling up the rocky bluffs, the summit is surprisingly large and flat – a large, wide open expanse of the same low cushions of  arrow bamboo, with another rather neat and civilized plaque engraved with the mountain’s name and height. We took the necessary photos and gladly got out of there, I for one eager, now we’d somehow managed to bag both peaks despite the conditions, to get down to safety.

   With the main objective obtained, getting down the mountain always seems to take far longer than getting up, and it appeared to take an age to get back to the junction near the basic and damp Chilai Hut, where a second trail descends the cliffs back to Chenggong Hut and the promise of a comforting hot cup of ginger tea.  Just before we got there, we met a party of four – the only other people who had stayed at the hut with us the night before. They’d started far too late to have any realistic and safe chance of bagging the summits – the weather was fast closing in – and they decided to turn back. One of them, an old chap in his late sixties perhaps, was in an almost comically bad mood. I’d remembered him from the evening before, when he seemed a bit irritated at our politeness in refusing him when he offered us his bag of peanuts. Now he was definitely far from happy, continuously exclaiming that the trip was  ’不好玩’ (no fun). When we eventually returned to the hut, I overheard him still repeating it like a mantra, as his little group prepared to trudge down the mountain back to civilisation that day, in the rain. I was impressed though that he made it up here at all!

   The sign at the junction for the quick return to Chenggong Hut and the shelter of the forest explained it’s apparently only 1.2 kilometers back to the hut, which, we found out, was suspiciously wrong. It’s more like that down to the next junction below the shattered cliffs of the west face of the ridge, and after a deceptively easy start, nearly every meter was rough, steep, precariously perched on the  edge of a scary drop, or (usually) all three at once. It took over an hour to do that short section of path, during which we saw, to our amazement, another group of hikers scrambling up the rocks (they’d be spending the night in the hut on the ridge – good luck with that!).

   Finally back on the outward route at the junction above Chenggong Hut, a muddy but relatively straightforward clamber down the steep wooded slopes and we were back at the hut to enjoy that cup of tea.

Chenggong Hut

   Despite almost ten hours of solid hiking and scrambling, the whole group was in great spirits that night, and it was only the arrival of another group (who  turned in to sleep by 6 pm) that put a stop to our conversation. The long day’s work did wonders for getting me through the night; sleeping maybe half of the long hours of darkness, this second night was merely long rather than endless, like night one.

   It was raining hard, with a howling wind during the night, but by 6 am the conditions had softened a bit, and after adjusting to the shock of the initial short climb above the hut with heavy backpacks, the return to the trailhead was easier than expected. Having said that, the long climb from Black Water Pool Hut to Little Chilai was a trying postlude to the hike – a lengthy climb of about five hundred meters of vertical ascent.

   With that final test over, the clouds began clearing magically during the final, blissfully level and easy couple of hundred meters, and as we changed into dry clothes back at the minivan, the great mass of the mountain we’d just climbed appeared briefly for the first and only time this three days: a fitting conclusion to a damn fine trek!

The team (Greg, Govan, Jennifer, Ashley, James, and guide Mr Yu) at a celebratory lunch after the hike on day three

Climbing Chilai

The two northern summits of Mount Chilai (the North and Main Peaks;  Chilai South Peak, further along the ridge and reached from a completely different route, is a much simpler climb) aren’t that bad really – the nasty weather and gale force winds made it harder for us, and in fact the guide came close to turning back when the conditions deteriorated on the way to the second summit. Having said that, the two peaks are categorically NOT beginners’  climbs. The hike is a much bigger challenge than any of the embarrassingly meager group of 3,000 meter peaks (Yushan, Snow Mountain, Dabajianshan, Jiaming Lake etc) I’ve conquered in the past; it’s several notches harder in every way. But it’s also definitely the best trip I’ve had so far in the central mountains. Beautiful? Only in places. Spectacular? Absolutely! Chilai is an awesome place, a ‘real’ mountain and absolutely recommended. Do a couple of the easier 3,000 meter peaks first, take a guide so you don’t get lost, and it well be an unforgettable experience. It’s certainly fired up my enthusiasm to get up into the high peaks once again (endless, uncomfortable nights ‘n’ all). Can’t wait for the next challenge!

The summit of Mount Huangzui

At the trailhead

The mountain emergency shelter below Mount Huangzui

In Emerald Valley (one of Yangmingshan's rarely visited gems, on the Rong Run Old Trail)

The Rong Run Old Trail is one of Yangmingshan's more interesting hiking routes

Begrimed but unfazed, we picked up the trail on the other side of the valley, disappeared back into the forest,  and started on the main part of Rong Run Old Trail, which meanders through the jungle for another two hours before passing a second large red warning sign and emerging unexpectedly beside a large tomb.

   It was still raining lightly, but we took a few minutes to wipe ourselves off. Those who’d remembered a change of clothes changed into something clean, while the rest of us tried to make ourselves look half respectable before rolling up at the posh Tianlai Hot Springs Resort just down the road.

   In many countries, we probably wouldn’t be allowed onto a bus looking like we must have – especially one as nice and plush as those operated by Royal Bus Company between Jinshan and Taipei. This being Taiwan though, the driver didn’t bat an eyelid as we piled on, sank down into the soft seats and began the long, eminently civilized journey back to Taipei, home, and a much-needed hot shower.   

 

GETTING PERMITS for MOUNT HUANGZUI

It’s a pretty simple process nowadays (as long as you have access to a Taiwanese ID number), but apply a couple of weeks early unless going on a weekday, as permits get snapped up quickly. The permit application service for entering the Nature Reserves at both Mount Huangzui and Lujiaokeng (Fenglin Waterfall, described in the entry below)  is on the Chinese language section pof the Yangmingshan National Park website at  http://www.ymsnp.gov.tw/apply/apply1/

   You can apply for a group of up to twenty people at a time. The ID of the group leader however needs to be a Taiwanese ID number – the system won’t accept ARC numbers. There are several not-quite-legal-but-often-the-only-way-to-do-it ways around this of course; for instance the ‘Group Leader’ might be sick and unable to join you on the hike when you go.

   Rong Run Old Trail isn’t one the several route options  covered by permits for Huangzui issued by the National Park, and entering the trail is officially illegal, so be polite but clueless if you run into any park rangers which sometimes patrol the area, although I’ve never run into any.

  Mount Huangzui and the route of the wonderful Rong Run Old Trail are described in Yangmingshan: the Guide, on pages  280 and 350.

The lower trailhead of Rongren Old Trail

Fenglin Waterfall, one of the finest in Yangmingshan

The first part of the hike is along a wide, easy track

With all that rain and all those mountains, it’s hardly surprising that Yangmingshan has quite a few waterfalls, although all the higher/most impressive or beautiful falls require some serious hiking or river tracing to reach. By contrast all the ‘touristy’ waterfalls in the park are small and generally rather disappointing: Juansi (‘silk’) Waterfall was great in its small way 15 years ago, when we used to stand under its delicate falling waters, using it as a natural shower, but shortly after that the authorities cordoned the area off and now it can only be seen from behind a tall, ugly fence.  Emerald Valley Falls and Tianmu Falls, with their hot-spring water-stained rocks are lovely still, although there are so many finer waterfalls around Taipei. Datun Waterfall and Seven Star Waterfall are both tiny – hardly worth the trip. Only Saints Fall is really impressive, despite its small size. Unfortunately the bridge over to the foot of the fall was washed away donkey’s years ago and never re-built, so now it can only be spied from a distance.    

Later the trail is reduced to a rocky scramble, with many crossings of the stream

Fenglin Waterfall isn’t especially hard to reach, provided you’ve had some experience on walking in rough country and in fording streams, but a trip there requires a little advance planning, as it lies in a deep gorge in the north of Yangminshan National Park, in the wilds of the Lujiaokeng Ecological Protected Area. A week or two before going, it’s necessary to apply for a permit from the National Park (see the ‘Mount Huangzui’ entry, above, for details on getting the permit). Luckily this has become much easier in the last few years. On my first visit (while researching my book Yangmingshan: the Guide), the only way to get the necessary permit was to hire an official hiking guide (the trip was eventually arranged for me courtesy of the one-and-only Jean-Marc Compain at Fresh Treks, who turned the hike up to the waterfall into a thoroughly memorable morning, complete with lunch and wine at the end!).

 Permit in hand (don’t forget to jot-down the combination number to open the lock on the gate at the entrance!), take a Royal Bus Company (http://www.royalbus.com.tw/) bus to Xia Chigu stop (下七股), on the far side of Yangmingshan, on the way down to the coast at Jinshan. Leave the main Jinshan road by the small lane opposite the bus stop and follow it for a kilometer or so almost to the famous Huayitsun Hot Spring (花藝村). Before it, though, turn right at a junction down a narrow road downhill, cross the Rainbow Bridge (彩虹橋) and the road ends a little further at Lujiaokeng Checkpoint: a small office (usually empty), space to park a couple of cars, and a tall, locked gate.

   Through the gate, a track contours the side of the valley above the tumbling stream, later giving fine views (on rare clear days) of the impressive Mt Xiaoguanyin/Song/Zhuzi ridge, then ends at the buildings of a small water treatment works – not something you’d expect to see in an important and carefully protected nature reserve!  Walk to the left, past the buildings (ignoring the steps climbing the hillside on the left) and the track immediately ends in a patch of grass beside the stream.

   Now the fun begins! The National Park authorities have deliberately left the route up to the waterfall as a narrow, unmarked and often rough and indistinct trail, although it’s not too hard to follow after the first few hundred meters, which are a bit tricky. Beyond the water treatment works, walk down to the bank of the stream, and walk along the bank, clambering over stones in the stream bed. Cross a wide tributary which joins on the left – difficult after heavy rain. On this tributary stream is one of Lujiaokeng’s other gems, the very small but completely natural Lujiaokeng Hot Springs, reached by a secret trail which I dare not describe on this blog, considering the mess the beautiful Ba Yan Hot Spring, a bit further down the mountain, has become since it was ‘discovered’ by the masses.

 

Below the waterfall

 

Once across the tributary the trail is a mite clearer, climbing the bank a little, away from the water’s edge for a bit, then further up repeatedly crossing the main stream (watch out for the slippery rocks). It’s not always clear where the trail goes next – look out for cairns (small piles of rocks) which mark the route at important points – there are almost no trail-marking plastic ribbons here!   Finally, perhaps 45 minutes after leaving the water treatment works, the stream (and the trail) become rougher and there’s more scrambling and clambering up slippery rocks involved. Then, the stream veers off to the left, starts climbing quite steeply, and the  waterfall can be seen at the head of the narrow little gorge, high above. The best view is from about 50 meters below the main fall, although it’s possible to climb right up to its foot, where there’s a  tiny pool (unfortunately too small for cooling off in – not that I would try anyway – this is a nature conservation zone!) .

   Apparently there’s another fall, Xiao Guanyin Waterfall, just a short distance above Fenglin Waterfall, and it’s supposed to be nearly twice its height, which would put it on par with Yangmingshan’s greatest waterfall, Alipang. Unfortunately, there’s no obvious trail here, and it’s a bit risky to try: park rangers patrol the trail at certain times, and anyone wandering off the path to Fenglin Waterfall (the only route visitors are permitted to take in the Conservation Zone) or without permits, face a stiff penalty. And they mean it!

Shame … but restrictions such as these do impart a certain mystery to the place. Yangmingshan National Park covers a huge area and it’s a far more mysterious and fascinating place than most people imagine. Many of its most fascinating places are either tricky to reach or kept secret by the National Park authorities. 

   And I hope that’s exactly how it stays.

FURTHER INFO:

Fenglin and the wonderful Alipang Waterfalls, plus many of Yangmingshan’s many other waterfalls, are all described in Yangmingshan: the Guide.

 

Descending from Seven Star Mountain towards Lengshuikeng

Just as the first hike in our attempt to conquer all the peaks in Yangmingshan in a series of hikes this month reminded me just how fun and rewarding hiking Taipei’s National Park can be, our second installment hammered home the two main reasons I don’t often venture up there any more – the often miserably overcrowed buses up there (and down again), and the bloody awful weather!

   Getting off the MRT at 6:45 am, I made the stupid mistake of chosing Jiantan station instead of Beitou. Assuming that at that early hour the school kids would still be eating breakfast, we approached the line of bus stops to see a sea of youthful humanity, all queuing for buses up Yangmingshan! We gave up on trying to catch a R5 or 260 – the queue was about seventy meters long (I’m serious!) but managed to grab a Huangjia bus (the one that goes over the mountain to Jinshan). This company operates very nice coach-like buses with large, comfy seats, only there wasn’t a single one free when we piled on – they were all occupied by students, most fast asleep and quite oblivious to the passengers packing the aisles. For this uncomfortable standing ride there was of course no discount – a pity since Huangjia buses are much more expensive than the city bus route (108) that also serves Xiaoyukeng. At least we didn’t have to change buses, and after a mini traffic jam on the way up the hill, we arrived at Xiaoyukeng around 8 am.

Volcanic vent beside the path on the ascent of Seven Star Mountain

As soon as we passed the main Yangmingshan visitor center and Zhuzihu on the way up to the pass and the start of today’s route, we were lost in the clouds, and we saw no more the sun or anything else more than about fifty meters away from us until our descent back into the city in the early afternoon   (on another miserably packed vehicle, this time a mini bus with barely enough headroom to stand upright) .

The climb to the summit of Seven Star Mountain (Mt Cising, 1,120 meters) is always a pleasant experience from Xiaoyukeng, although it’s much nicer when there’s a bit of a view. This route is easier (with about 300 meters of vertical ascent, verses nearly twice that if climbing from the popular miaopu trailhead, near the main Visitor Center), and more scenic too, with plenty of hot rocks and steaming volcanic vents to examine on the way up.

Among the clouds on the summit of Seven Star Mountain's main peak

   The cloud was so thick though that the humid air constantly condensed on my glasses and in the end I found it easier to take them off and walk without them.

   The twin summits of Seven Star were predictably a white-out, and on the way down the east face towards Lengshuikeng, the wind began to get up, while it also started raining lightly.  Any hopes that the weather might improve were beginning to look like wishful thinking.

The summit of Seven Star Mountain East peak

   After snacking on a tea egg and a soft drink at Lengshuikeng, we set off of to climb a  more intriguing  and little-known peak nearby, Mount Chigu (899 meters), a thickly wooded summit just north of Lengshuikeng. This one is so little climbed that the route I took when I first climbed it four or five years ago now seems to have been abandoned and is impassable .  A trail to the top still begins however at a small, recently rebuilt temple a few hundred meters along the Qingtiangang road from Lengshuikeng, and is a fairly strenuous but fun clamber up some very steep and rough wooded slopes, at first  beside a rocky stream with a couple of small waterfalls. After about half an hour, the trail emerges into silver grass on the large, flat summit, and disappears into the grassy wilderness. There’s no summit trig point to give the hike a little closure, and certainly no view to be had (even if the weather had been clear); the reward here is simply in hiking a corner of Yangmingshan that clearly very few people  visit.

Awkward conditions on the trail up Mount Chigu

   Coming back down Mount Chigu (and climbing up it for that matter) it’s essential to look out carefully for the regular trail ribbons. The peak is crisscrossed with countless trails, probably made by buffalo, and it’s very easy to get lost here. We tried to head down the mountain by a second trail, by which I’d climbed the peak several years ago, but the ribbons were eventually swallowed up by the thick sea of silver grass which covers the eastern slopes of the summit – a miserable place to get lost.

   In any event by now the light rain of the morning had become a lot heavier; we were all soaked, I was caked with mud from sliding down the steep, muddy trail, and my feet were sloshing around in my boots. My three companions had already decided to throw in the towel and headed to the nearest bus stop. I started plodding along the road to Qingtiangang trying to convince myself it was worth continuing, but it was no use. After less than two hundred meters I turned back, squelched to the nearest bus stop and 10 minutes later stood crammed like a sardine into a tightly packed S15 minibus speeding down to Shilin. Down in the city the ground was dry, the sun was shining, and it was a balmy 25 or 26 degrees.

The only good reason to put up with Yangmingshan in the pouring rain is if there’s a big waterfall (such as Fenglin or Alipang) at the end of the trail. Otherwise it’s a miserable place. Those who insist on walking here  after the weather turns bad are surely either masochist, or downright stupid.

   But then deciding to do a series of hikes in Yangmingshan during the six-month period when it’s regularly assailed by the drenching northeast monsoon winds wasn’t one of my brighter ideas ….

Here’s hoping for a climatic miracle for the next hike – the much wilder slopes of Mount Huangzui.