Gongziliao Fort, Jilong- 槓子寮砲台, 基隆

Jaryd and I don't teach until 6:40 on Tuesdays, so we decided to hit up a fort in Keelung he'd been to previously with his girlfriend.  The hike itself is neither challenging nor long, and close enough that we'd waste little time in transit.  We'd have a chance to enjoy the outdoors and be back well before our evening class begun, breaking up the monotony of an English teacher's weekly routine.  This particular day the sun beat down with an oppressiveness reminiscent of summer, the heat sinking deep below the skin.  Foolishly, I had brought a long sleeve shirt, somehow convinced it would be cool at noon on a sunny day.  The shirt stayed firmly wound around my waste, never once pressed into service.

The hike to Gongziliao Fort starts behind National Taiwan Ocean University (海大), right behind the men's dorms.  The college is accessible by the 101, 103, and 104 buses from Keelung Station.  We take the right branch of the circuit route, hoping to catch some sweet archery on the way back.  The trail consists of simple, ugly concrete steps, though the trail side is adorned with signs pointing out various flora.  I am surprised to find myself sweating far more heavily than our previous hike, the burden of heat-resistant skin having sloughed away in anticipation of fall.  There are a wealth of maps and signs to point you in the right direction, and even if you get lost, no one branch goes on for longer than a kilometer.  The path to the fort forks left soon after a plain brown gazebo overlooking northern Keelung.

Below the main battlement you're introduced to the remnants of a few barracks.  I puzzle over the stones laid down in the center of one ruin; Jaryd suggests they might have been part of the foundation that's since crumbled away.  Arched brick windows speaks to an element of refinement in the Japanese construction of the fort, Japan already painfully aware of the pressing need to modernize.  A sense of melancholy strikes me.  At one time this place must've been privy to the boisterous joking common to soldiers, to rumors spread about people we'll never know.  Now the breeze whispers through halls empty save for a lone spider, dangling beneath cracked mortar.

Further up you see munition depots, as well as storage tunnels carved into the side of the mountain.  Armed with cellphone flashlights, weak but serviceable, we manage to navigate the tunnels to their respective exits and dead-ends.  One branch leads out to a viewpoint, well-covered and providing an unobstructed view down to the harbor.  Striking an incongruous note in all this military efficiency, a beautiful lavender hibiscus tree grows near the cave opening, transforming a utilitarian look-out into the grotto of a reclusive Mediterranean sorceress.

Entrance to the tunnels.  Straight out of the first Diablo.

The viewpoint from the tunnels.

Jaryd, King of the Faeries

We explore every possible branch of the tunnels, coming across a sleeping bat, monstrous spiders, and some multi-legged monstrosity we don't recognize (edit: a house centipede).  Never mind the couples who come for the vistas of the Keelung coast, it's a safe bet Japanese soldiers didn't relish going inside these caves.  None of the dead-ends contain any lost war relics, and we leave before our nerves get the better of us.

An exit to the road

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Scutigera_coleoptrata

After the caves we take a steep staircase up to the main battlements.  Like any elevated fort we have a commanding view of the land around us.  Keelung Bay sparkles below, much more appealing out of smell's reach.  The east coast stretches out into the distance, and one can see Jinguashi close by, nestled within the mountains.  One of the charms of Taiwan is how one can, with the necessary elevation, look from one conquered adventure to the next.  It instills a sense not only of accomplishment, but of intimacy.

Swinging away from the view we find a pair of rotating 9mm cannons at the top of the ridge.  You can still see the rusted tracks the guns must've swung on, as well as alcoves to store additional shells, facilitating reloading.  Nearby, there's a metal-lined chute, what must've been used to discard spent shells.  I can't imagine them passing up shells through such a deep, narrow hole, but maybe they utilized some long-handled tool.  Steps from the guns lead down to the storage unit the hole connects to.

Near the other gun, there's a lookout bunker.  There's a hole in the grass by the second gun, and Jaryd thinks it links the gun with the bunker, a way for the lookout to rapidly communicate necessary adjustments without leaving his post.  The sign does talk about pottery speaker equipment installed between the cannons.  While I take pictures of the surrounding land, Jaryd steps inside the bunker and after the fucker shoots me down with mind bullets I climb down through the opening to join him.  A somber-eyed basset-hound stumping along immediately draws my attention.  His Taiwanese owner smiles at me as I pet him.  "His name's Buddy.  He's just a stupid dog."  I laugh awkwardly at this casual display of affection.

Look closely and you can see Buddy the basset-hound.

Meandering down a grassy slope, we find a long, flat area people use for paragliding.  Not really sure where people land, as there's not much beyond dock and water below.  Looking behind us up at the fort, I appreciate the subtle architecture of the gun mounts; the whole battlement seems to blend in to the mountainside.  We see some structures up ahead, and the best we can guess are they served as vehicle garages, since a pair of parallel concrete tracks runs up to one.

Stepping off the ridge, we walk down the path where six 28mm howizters once sat.  I imagine how the guns looked, occupying enormous holes now filled with dirty water and lily pads.  With the mountainside towards the bay steep and thickly forested, a frontal assault by foot to seize the battery would have been impractical, especially considering there's little beach to land on; it would be left to the ships to knock out this fort.  Due to the excellent cover and protection provided by the recessed artillery, any ships in the harbor would've had to score a direct hit shooting blindly up the side of a mountain, and given the hell raining down on them, the window for that success would have been narrow indeed.  China inherited this fort from the Japanese after the Russo-Japanese War, renovating it between 1900 and 1908.  They too would abandon it, however, so it seems the fort saw little fighting.  I know Keelung was bombed by the Americans during WWII, but obviously this fort would've had little application against air.  Probably the reason it's so well preserved.

The path back is straightforward and takes little time.  I see more wildlife on this hike than any other trail: several butterflies, an enormous grasshopper about the size of a snickers bar, and a dead mole.  Right after the mole, while chatting about some weighty matter, Jaryd and I are startled by rustling to the right. An enormous snake darts between us, brown and black and thicker around than my bicep, coiling in an S-pattern.  Jaryd hollers something unintelligible and I barely have the presence of mind to hop back, my shrieking the envy of Bieber fans everywhere.  After the snake goes slithering down the side of the mountain I start laughing manically.  Jaryd stops speaking in tongues and is convulsing with laughter too.  As close as the snake came to me, and it did come close, I was too busy dancing around to get a close look at its coloring.  We believe it was a Russel's Pit Viper though; these snakes are seen during the day when the weather gets cooler, found in woodlands, and can strike very quickly, often at shadows, though they only grow to be about 4 ft. in length. This guy was easily over five feet, maybe even closer to six, though I must remember that excitement often leads to hyperbole.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Daboia

You read the part where it says, "These snakes are responsible for the most deaths worldwide out of all venomous snakes," right?  God, I hope it was this snake.  It'd be like spitting in Death's eye.  While pissing myself.  Not exactly heroic, but still admirable.

Jaryd's peering at the brush with every step, and I too feel an anxiety gripping at my chest.  His comments about the whole incident are comically pertinent:

"After all the hiking we do, this is the hike where we see the giant snake?  Not the eight hour hike from Xizhi to Pingxi, oh no, no snakes there.  No, it's the one close to civilization, RIGHT BY A FUCKING COLLEGE, where we see the giant snake."

Luckily, the archery field is nearby, and we get off the trail with a palpable sense of relief.  This relief quickly becomes frustration when we see the what's taking place in front of the targets.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!"

Two girls already made nervous by the presence of foreigners start giggling at my outburst.  Clearly, rage crosses all borders of language.  I am not pleased with the herd of casual golfers driving a crossfire of balls right in front of where I'm supposed to be sending shafts, like the hero I am.

I turn to Jaryd.  "This is bullshit."  More hushed giggling.  GOLFING?!  I ask a man what the deal is and he says archery only goes on in the evening.  What's wrong with you heathens?  Golfing should never supplant archery.  EVER.  With our dreams of sweet bow hunting shot down we head back to Xizhi, and worn out from the heat of the day, we fall asleep en route.   Would've been nice to get some archery practice in; I might start carrying around a bow if anything larger decides to fuck with me.

Liyu Mountain, Bishanyan Temple- 鯉魚山, 碧山巖開漳聖王廟

(This happened the day before Daxi to Dali on Saturday, but I didn't know if I was going to ever finish this, so I wrote up that entry first.)

I was supposed to be doing a completely different hike today, one closer to home.  Even though the hike is within my county, none of the buses I needed to take stopped at the bus stops where I live.  As in, yes, I checked multiple bus stops to see if I was missing something obvious, or if living in Taiwan is just that much of a catch-22.

Fuck it, I guess I'll be going back to the hike I did two weeks ago.  Can't go wrong with a breezy jaunt to a beautiful waterfall, and I won't even have to write a blog article about it!  This time I'd swing around and take the loop back through unexplored Liyu Mountain.  Other people, however, have the same idea, because I'm  dodging hikers left and right on what had been a more than ample path last visit.  Oh yeah, last visit was kinda right before a typhoon...

Everyone's rushing to get a few hikes in before the rainy season descends upon Taiwan.  I can't blame them, but I sure as shit don't want to put up with crawling septuagenarians and heedless brats walking right down the middle of the path.  Luckily, before I even have to pull any side-road maneuvers, the fork towards Liyu Mountain appears, and no one seems intent on straying from their forward push.

Surprise!

This is for good reason, as the fork climbs up a great many flight of steps.  I'll grant this concession though, if I can just go at my own pace.  After some climbing, the trees clear enough that I get a bird's eye view of Yuanjue Falls opposite the valley, its twin streams threading down rock so smooth as to look man-made.  The placid lake above beckons with its rich blue color, and the beautiful orange moss carpeting nearby boulders completes that sort of enchanting postcard view I find impossible to capture at this distance.

Not long past this vista, I see something that gives me pause.  Miniature models of famous locales start to sprout up on both sides.  This is what giants must feel like.

Mt. Fuji

Somewhere in Rome?

The Presidential Office Building in Taipei

These pieces weren't some piecemeal effort by the public though.  Mr. Liu, a retired man, while volunteering for mountain management, spent the next fifteen years of his life painting and molding over fifty 'views' into rocks dug out to facilitate forest growth.  Starting with stretches of highway, the subject matter ranges from remote temples to sacred mountains, branching out beyond Taiwan.  Some of the works stem purely from his imagination, or else my knowledge of Chinese geography is lacking.  The characters underneath one model, freshly done-up in a bright red, read '世外桃源' or 'beautiful retreat away from the world'.  Tall pillars of rocks enclose some sort of settlement, the cars of supplicants parked nearby.  What draws my eye is a smooth slab of rock planted within the side of the model.  I bend down for a closer look.  Is that a geode slice?

Evidently, the man liked to add a little bling to his pieces.  I imagine what it would be like to climb up a mountain towards a towering mirror of blinding jade, impossibly smooth to the touch, but cracked in several places by the vicissitudes of time.  Such a place would surely be famous throughout the world.  Ah, to live purely in the imagination, and give rise to works that can never be!

I admire the pieces as the trail starts to weave down, but by far the most impressive, and monumental, is the miniature Great Wall, winding around tree trunks, rising and falling with the 'mountains' beneath.  All that's missing is some heavy mist (or smog, depending on where you are) and the scene would be complete, though perhaps this Great Wall is more audacious for being built through a heavy jungle.

I eventually make my way off of Liyu Mountain and take the left branch up to Bishanyan Temple (the right goes back towards Yuanjue Falls).  The temple is nice enough, but I'm more interested in the view.  Off towards Danshui, the sunset is a gorgeous orange-pink, and I join the crowds of people taking some to bask in its radiance.  Danshui always gets the prettiest sunsets.

I realize I have maybe a half-hour at this point to do some further exploring, so I hurry up some steps towards a peak.  Signs tell me I'm on top of something, but with the trees crowding in, all I can see is the smiling face of Chiang Kai Shek, his monument plopped squarely in the center of this mountain park, lacking any aesthetic charm.  I make my way back down.

I'm a little concerned how I'm going to get down in the dark, but a chatty, older gentleman points me down the road.  I take a left fork off into the forest, down some lit steps.  When I emerge, he comes up on his scooter and offers me a ride.  What is it with kindly guys showing up on scooters to lend a hand?  Hell yes I'll take a ride!  As he's talking to me, sparks from his cigarette keep flying into my face, a cigarette he dangles from his mouth while chewing a hefty wad of betel nut.  With so many addictions, one must be judicious in finding time to enjoy them all.  I love you, random old Taiwanese man.

He lets me out at the Neihu MRT, waves, and takes off.  God damn, what is it, six?  And it's this dark already?  I guess winter really is coming.

Climbing the Dragon's Spine- From Daxi To Dali- 在龙脊攀爬, 从大溪到大里

My path takes me up the Daxi Trail to the orange circle at Taoyuan Valley.  This area has the nickname 世外桃源 'shiwai taoyuan', which means a beautiful retreat away from the world.  From there, I follow the red path, the Caoling Trail, all the way to where it intersects with the green path, my exit route down to Dali Station.

*BEEP BEEP BEEP*

Christ, what time is it?  6am?!  What am I doing waking up at 6am?

"What you do every Sunday," a sharp voice pierces my hazy consciousness, "Climb mountains, trek across the wilderness, the usual bad-assery."  The voice sounds a little like Carl from Aqua Teen Hunger Force.

"Yeah, but at 6am?"

"What can I say, you chose a long hike this time.  Now get your ass out of bed."

That's right.  I was making the trek from Daxi to Dali, a 13 km route winding from mountain to mountain along Taiwan's beautiful east coast.  Daxi is a 1.5 hour train ride from Xizhi, and with the hike ticking off at around 5 hours, I decided to wake up extra early to leave the rest of my day open.  It still amazes me how small Taiwan is; I can be half-way around the island in less time than it takes to teach one of my classes.

Groggily, I pick up supplies at the local 7-11 and head for the train station.  The one idea paramount in my mind: I'll be able to sleep on the way over.  Who else is going to be taking the 6:54 am train on a Sunday morning?

You know nothing, Stephen Hopkins.

With visions of stretching out comfortably I step onto the train bound for Su'ao and do a double-take.  Everywhere I look seats are crammed with hikers, most of them dressed in neon-colored polo shirts.  Massive packs lay at the foot of some, and walking sticks are the order of the day.  How arrogant of me to think that I was the only person who might want to get in some hiking while the weather's this perfect, especially considering the mean age of hikers in Taiwan.  Old people waking up early to take advantage of the day?  Nah...

Before long I'm able to grab a seat squeezed between two fully-decked out hikers.  The gentleman on my right frequently stands up at stops to greet other hikers wearing the same garish orange shirt he is.  Jesus, these clubs sport some braggin' membership.  I'm unable to really stretch out until Fulong, but by then I've got maybe fifteen minutes until Daxi, so instead of sleeping, I twist around to get a full view of the Pacific laid bare before me.

Maybe ten minutes from Daxi Station, not far from the trail entrance.

Alighting at Daxi, I find myself in a commercial desert.  7-11s, the defining mark of civilization in Taiwan, are replaced by the occasional mom and pop store.  Seeing a group of young Taiwanese pointing at the station map, I overhear they're looking for the Taoyuan Valley Trail.  Great, all I have to do is play it cool and creep on these guys.  Considering we're the only ones who get off at this stop, THAT won't be at all conspicuous.  They notice pretty quickly that I'm skulking behind them, and when one of the women asks me where I'm headed, I let her know.

She brightens, "Oh hey, that's where we're headed!  Where you going until?"
"Dali."
"Oh, us too!"
"Cool.  I actually eavesdropped on you guys and was planning on following you to the trailhead without engaging in conversation."

Haha, just kidding on the last part.  I learn from one guy that they're a group of middle school teachers.  He first engages me in broken English before I convince him to do otherwise with my Chinese, and we share facets of teacher life with each other before I push ahead at the trail proper.  The first young woman was trying to convince me that this hike takes eight hours.  Maybe eight hours if you travel in a group of people who never hike.  As friendly as they are, I took the train alone, and I'm already inured to the idea of setting my own pace.  In a few minutes I hear them only faintly, and after a few more I'm truly alone.

I already know from Jaryd that the Taoyuan Valley Trail is 5 kilometers of steps, but I'm unprepared for the slippery stones that frustrates my progress.  It's as if someone scrubbed each brick with soap and just left the residue, a sick joke to make this Sisyphean task all the more aggravating.  I'm reminded of my time waiting at Din Tai Fung, where sometimes you weren't sure if you'd keep your footing around that corner, or eat shit while hefting a tower of dumpling baskets.  After having my back foot slip out from under me one too many times, I abandon stone for mud and step off to the side.  Apparently, other people have shared this sentiment, because the ground immediately around the trail is tramped down and well-worn.  Now, I complain about steps a lot on this blog.  For someone who does as much hiking as I do, it's kind of a big deal, but I do realize the advantages of installing them.  For more elderly hikers, a sturdier stone path means fewer aches in the joints, and less energy expended.  Fair.  But to install a trail THAT'S SHITTIER THAN THE DIRT PATH ALONG IT?!  You realize people find the FUCKING DIRT AND TWIGS more reliable than your soapstone bullshit?  And trust me, it's not like I wasn't slipping and sliding in the mud too, I just stood a better chance of making it up the mountain without breaking my front teeth on hard brick.

It all pays off, trust me.

Ah yah, dose are purdy nice steps, BUT I WOULDN'T TAKE DEM.

Now I understand why all the hikers here wear sturdy boots.  Hint: it's not for off-trail adventuring.

It doesn't take long at all on the steep path to break above the trees, and my eyes drink their fill of the endless Pacific below.  The weather is sunny yet cool, and the cloud-dappled water sparkles merrily, cyan  in the light, and.  I fiddle around with my camera, trying to capture the rich colors of the water against the verdant green of Daxi's coastal mountains.  My best efforts are amateurish, and I decide I'll wait until I get to the ridge line before seeking photographic gold.

The best Taiwan imitation of autumn.

I meet an older couple resting at a pavilion, the husband ensuring me the hike will take no more than five hours for someone of my stamina.  Later on, a family greets me from the lone restroom stop on the trail.  I see their dog and inquire about it:

Me: "Nice dog."
Man: "Yeah, it's been following us ever since we got here."
Me: (not understanding at first) "Can you pet him?"
Man: "I don't know, he's not ours!"
Me: "Oh."

I whistle softly and he starts running up ahead of me.  He's a beautiful mutt, undoubtedly with some German Shepherd mixed in there.  As I pet him, I notice he lacks any distinct dog odor.  He has a collar, so surely he can't be a stray.  Just when I think he's going to be a permanent companion on this hike though, his ears prick up, and he gallops back the way he came.  Probably for the better, I have no food for him.

It's too bad he doesn't stick around though, as I have no companion to share the ridge-top view with.  I'm granted a 360 view: mountains to my left, the Pacific to my right, and my destination straight ahead.  With only one kilometer left I make it to the pavilion in no time, a landmark confirmed in my mind as the connecting point to the Caoyuan Trail.

You really have to try to take a bad picture up here.

I rest here for a spell, enjoying the sun, the cool breeze, and my Chinese trail-mix, much improved with the addition of peanut M&Ms.  The family I ran into catches up with me, the dog proceeding them.  I chat with them a bit, and the husband remarks that the dog's well-mannered, it's just a shame they can't take it in.  Tell me about it buddy.  I've seen about a dozen cats that I'd like to make my own, but my schedule would never allow it.

The Taiwanese are out in force, both casual families driving up to the grassy meadows of Caoling, and more dedicated hikers.  What I don't see is much wild cattle, with one lonely specimen grazing far in the distance.  I probably see more warnings and barbed-wire checkpoints than I see actual cows, but I'm not really disappointed, as I got my fill of them at Qing Tian Gang.

The dog busies himself sniffing my crotch while I pack up my stuff up and set off once more.  At first I think he's going to linger with the family, but he comes bounding up to me.  Grinning, I whistle him over, but he darts away down the meadow, bounding over the rolling hills.  What looks to be a pile of cow shit grabs his attention and he busies himself rooting around in it.  With that final picture of him locked in my memory I wave goodbye and head up and over the grassy crest of rock that's long occupied my field of vision.

I quickly realize that I've underestimated this hike.  After tackling the first green wave, my sense of accomplishment is instantly swept away when I gaze out ahead; the Caoling Trail is a dragon's spine, whipping up and down with the ridgeline.  I curse out loud when I take in all the undulations of the five km still in front of me, not out of exasperation, but because I had no idea to expect such beauty.  For the first time I feel like I'm on a legitimate day-hike, like I would be back home.  Wuliaojian might have tested the strength of my nerves, but the Caoling Trail, with it's rolling mountain views, truly reminds me of the far reaching vistas of my native Cascades.

Taking a detour to a viewpoint leaves my left hip throbbing by the time I reach the top.  Shitski, a trail in Taiwan that can cause me physical pain?  Ashamed, I picture myself next year climbing up Jade Mountain, gritting my teeth at the half-way point due to aching knees.  Sometime in the past few years my body went ahead and aged without my consent: worry lines, thinning hair, protesting joints.  This displeases me.  I push through and wait until I've hiked to the top of Mt. Kengtou before I sit down and knead my hip.  All the aches and pain do on a trail like this is give you more time to appreciate the scenery.  That's all getting old is, a reminder to slow down and take it all in.

Heading downhill now, I spot a huge eagle hovering against the force of the wind.  It's clutching something that manages to worm away every few seconds, all to no avail as the hawk deftly plucks it back out of the air.  My mouth drops open every time this happens.  The hawk has scant moments to maneuver and snatch whatever prey it has out of the air while compensating for the gusting wind, and it does so without fail.  Hell, it even makes it look easy.  Like, shooting-tires-while-driving-a car-during-a-car-chase-scene easy.  The hawk is shortly joined by another, and they frequently fly overhead not more than ten meters above me, close enough for me to appreciate their great size, but not close enough for my camera to record any appreciable features.

From this point I can see the road I'll be taking back down to the Dali train station and after trekking on a curling dragon's spine through breath-taking vistas, I'm less impressed with having to walk down an asphalt road.  There are shortcuts cutting through in the form of stairs, but I'm stuck behind crawling geriatrics until I lose my patience and do a bit of off-road passing.  If there are some dirty looks thrown my way I'll never know, because I'm busy making up for time lost taking photos.  Hurtling down steps at breakneck speed, I'm able to cut the last 3 km to about twenty minutes.  I pass through a garish temple, whistling something from a Miyazaki film, and work my way to the train station just as it starts to rain.

Rain at the end of my hike?  I'll take it.  From here it's on to Jiaoxi, to soak in a hot spring.  Or, as my brother says, enjoy the dicks.