Pingxi Peaks, Stone Bamboo Shoot and Shulang Peak- 石筍尖和薯榔尖

Yesterday was the first day of our four-day break for Mid-Autumn Festival.  Originally, we had intended to embark on an epic six-hour hike through a redwood forest near Taoyuan-

http://hikingtaiwan.wordpress.com/2009/12/30/beichatian-mountain-ii/

 -but after realizing the lack of public transportation to the trailhead, we knew this particular hike would require logistical planning beyond our usual "shove shit in a backpack and we're good to go" routine.  I hope to write an article about it in the near future, provided we're able to procure some scooters.

So, with that hike on the back burner, we looked to other places.  Jiufen looked appealing, as did Yilan, but in the end we settled for the Three Peaks of Pingxi (they're actually closer to Jingtong).  I had misgivings about the mention of endless stairs on some blogs, but "the Collective" had been wrong before, and what was I going to do anyway, sit around at home plucking my ass hairs?

Saw these everywhere around the train station, apparently people write their wishes on them, just like what people do at Japanese temples.

Waking up around 8:06 despite setting an alarm, I frantically throw some water and dried fruit in my backpack and hurry out the door to catch the 8:23 train.  All this rushing proves to be for naught, as the local train decides to go rogue and barrel through the previous stop the others are currently waiting at.  So I sit on my bench, feeling sticky and not quite awake.  Goddamn it.  If the local train is going to be slow and unreliable, then you assholes better make damn sure it stops at every station.  Eventually we get on the same train and transfer to the Pingxi Rail from Badu.  The weather alternates between brilliantly clear and Seattle Drizzle (that's a paint tone, look it up if you don't believe me), though by the time we alight the sun is shining and it is hot, the heavy Taiwanese heat that physically weighs you down.  We dick around near the station before walking along the train tracks towards Pingxi and turning left onto a small mountain road.  At this point the heat abates and the skies open up, softly at first, but quickly intensifying until we're being pissed on by the gods.  I laugh at our circumstances, knowing full well it'll be miserable going if the rain holds.  Thinking it will hold, and not wanting to look quite so much the drowned rat, I take off my shirt and stuff it into my pack where it apparently sits moldering until this very moment (the stench coming from it is faintly redolent of sour milk).  We dutifully trudge up and across a river, and after a stretch the rain lets up.  The weather gods are fickle on our hike, the sun never daring to show its face for long.  In some ways this is a boon, making for a cool ascent, the water adding a glossy, slippery sheen to the exposed roots we scramble on and over.  Our first stop is at an outcropping of rock, where we have a commanding view of the peak we're heading towards: Stone Bamboo Shoot Peak.

Stone Bamboo Shoot Peak

From this point it's maybe forty minutes of rope climbing, the path weaving tightly up the chimney that comprises Stone Bamboo Shoot Peak.  Steps carved into a sandy boulder prove the last obstacle before we stand under a Taiwanese flag, flapping in the thankfully dry breeze. Ash busts out a fruit salad of bananas, papaya and dragonfruit, while Jaryd shares a wedge of blissfully sweet tangerine.  Ryan points out a stone throne tastefully placed in the center, probably by the some long forgotten mountain lord.  A dwarf, from the size of it.  I remark how I'd like a picture of myself seated in this throne, but complain about getting my butt wet, hardly a valid excuse when my shorts are soaked through.  Someone ups the ante by suggesting I take the picture in my Speedo.  With my honor on the line, I can no longer refuse:

Surveying the kingdom

Admiring the view for a spell, we descend to a fork and make our way to the next peak, Shulang Peak, emerging from the sheltering canopy of the trail near the road.  The rain takes great delight in picking up at that precise moment, mockingly urging us forward.

Shulang Peak has nothing to recommend for it at the bottom of the trail; ugly grey steps stretch on before us, and once we mount them they don't end, not until the very top.  It's about an hour of mindlessly placing one foot in front of the other, broken only by a paved pathway lasting no more than twenty yards.  On the way up you can see discarded ropes piled up along the stairs, some still tied to their original spikes...all that remain of what must've been a fun hike, before some overzealous park officials decided to put their civilizing stamp on it.  The view at the top is impressive, though hardly worth the effort since it's essentially the same as the one from Stone Bamboo Shoot Peak.  If you're in the area you might as well do it to mark it off the list, but don't make a trip specifically to climb it.

Steps, steps...

...and more steps.

We make short work of the stairs on the trip down, my right knee protesting for most of the twenty-minute descent.  Following the path to the road, we pass by a small hamlet consisting of a score of rustic village homes.  A few of these are abandoned or gutted from the inside by fire.  This is not an uncommon sight in the countryside, and I wonder how these fires start or why these houses become so dilapidated.  In the US your neighbors get pissed if your house is rundown because it decreases the value of their property, but here nobody seems to care.  The owners don't seem to have enough money to rebuild the house, and are unwilling to sell the land, so the ruins sit, sometimes for years.

Ah yah, dat house is prty nice, BUT I WOULDN'T TAKE IT.

Paid out the ass for a sea salt latte, but damn was it tasty.

Back in Pingxi we decide to get some food and wait for the next train rather than tackle some other hikes.  Pingxi Old Street provides some amusement before we get back on the return train:

In downtown Pingxi

Pingxi Old Street

Pingxi's famous tourist activity, releasing sky lanterns.  During Lantern Festival you see hundreds of these dotting the sky.  That day, there were a mere handful of them floating in the dreary sky.

Almost every city along the Pingxi Line was a coal mining town.  Pingxi is no different.

Dinner that night is at Ed's Diner, a place on the brown line that does Southern-style BBQ, and by God it does it right.  For a mere $380 NT ($12 US), I get a great hunk of beef brisket slathered in a wonderfully tangy bbq sauce, paired with black-eyed beans, thick tomato soup, and a dinner roll (sweet, as all the bread in Taiwan is).  As I've had nothing to eat all day but a few scattered snacks, including the most insubstantial Taiwanese jerky ever, I scarf down my meal in seconds.  Satisfied, we all head over to the largest IMAX screen in Asia, 58ft. across and eight stories high if I remember correctly.  I'll spare you my thoughts on Elysium, except to say that a platinum blonde Helen Hunt spouting French is beyond hot.  French, such a lovely language.

Seattle Drizzle isn't a paint tone.

An Unexpected Journey

Because we have a Thursday and Friday off next week we had to make up our Friday classes yesterday.  One of the things that made all this bearable was the BBQ that came after classes.  Like immediately after.  I had to make the commute over from the other branch on the opposite end of Xizhi, and by the time I arrived the BBQ had already been in full swing for about an hour.  Jaryd told me they actually rang the bell early so they could conscript him for grilling duties.

Flinging aside warnings at training about how to handle drinking around the Taiwanese staff, I remedy the beer situation with a quick stop at the nearby Family Mart, and truth be told, I'd much rather drink than eat.  Though my Focus class was wonderfully active, especially for a Saturday, teaching evening classes for six days in a row has taken its toll, and even all this delicious food can't summon a shred of appetite.  I feed instead off the vibrant atmosphere, everybody talking casually, laughing, enjoying each other's company.  It's nothing of the formal affair I was afraid it'd be.  Jaryd and Shelly man the grill for a bit, until Tina, our head secretary, kicks them off and fusses over the slightly burnt sweet sausages.  Enoki mushrooms basted in butter and wrapped in tin foil sit next to rows of naked Shitake mushrooms, while oysters simmer nearby.  The night is thankfully cool, so even sitting next to the grill we're not suffering too much, least of all with an ice cold beer in one hand.

Eventually people go their separate ways and the foreign teachers head towards Xike Station, forming an honor guard for Addie, who usually gets picked up by her dad after work.  I can hear her talking on the phone, convincing the other line that she's quite safe under the protection of five foreign co-workers.  I sip on my beer as we stroll through the local night market, chuckling at the prospect of danger in sleepy Xizhi.  If walking Addie home allows her to partake in the pleasures forgoing curfew, so be it.  The cool night breeze  mingled with a warm camaraderie makes the affair far from unpleasant.

Bidding Addie good night, the rest of us make our way to a convenience store, where we make the mistake of buying the foulest tasting beer I've ever quaffed: Burg.  Supposedly German, it makes Pabst look like ambrosia, though at $70 NT for three cans, it'll get you drunk on the cheap as only the maltiest brews can.  Be careful spilling it on your clothes, because once you do this eau de bum beer isn't leaving.

www.facebook.com/pages/德國-BURG-啤酒優質麥啤-Germany-BURG-BEER-/306904372697485

Back at Ryan and Katie's place we pair our beer with some dice game.  First it's Liar's Dice, then 7, 11, Doubles, a game of patience, impatience, restraint, daring, and (sometimes) great heroism.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sevens,_Elevens,_and_Doubles

Notice how it says "you cannot really win" in the article.  I prefer Ryan's words: "Everyone's a loser when you play this game."  Especially when you're drinking Burg.

Around 1:30 am it's about that time.  Ryan's offer to spend the night is tempting, but I figure I'm sober enough to make the short twenty minute journey home.  Outside the apartment I get distracted by a mewing cat, which is usually enough to have me running off when I'm not sloppy.  Ash calls after me, but I'm already trying to convince this particular wide-eyed guy I mean him no harm.  He must smell the beer on me, because he scurries off.  Fucking city cats.  I walk forward a little bit and realize I'm very close to the river.  Looking down at the moonlight glinting off the water's surface, two options lay before me.  Turn back and take the path I know, or go down the path less traveled.  Grinning, I take the plunge down the rocky slope, and stick to the right side of the bank until I have to cross over when I hit water.  You know the second level in Sonic 2, Chemical Plant Zone?  You do if you're cool.  Considering the Jilong River is probably more runoff than water, it's not a bad comparison, though in real life rings aren't your health- health is your health, and I wouldn't risk mine putting any limb in that water for long.  I continue for a ways, enjoying a stillness interrupted only by the soft flow of the river, little more than a creek at the moment.  Eventually, I haul myself up a ladder and continue north, finding myself on one of the arched bridges I've only seen from afar.  As I walk, I glance back the way I came, and am amazed to find Xizhi transformed by this new perspective (and likely my BAC as well).  Away from the clutter, with its tall buildings framed by stars and the Jilong snaking around its outskirts, Xizhi looks a little more bucolic than it might in the daytime.  Seized again with wanderlust, I walk along the river once more, finally scampering up the concrete slope and balancing on a concrete railing.  My eyes follow the river until I'm interrupted from my revery by a pack of wild dogs at the river's edge.  There must be a half-dozen of them, all baying loudly at me.  Pausing to take a deep breath, I return fire at the top of my lungs, laughing afterwards.  Their barking continues, but as I approach they trot off in the direction I came from, though I'm at least twenty yards above their location.  Well, whatever works.  However, their distant barking inspires me to climb down to the river, this time with the intent of crossing.  There's little to substantiate the fear of a retaliatory ambush from these dogs, but the alcohol in my system convinces me otherwise, as I scout vainly for a path across the toxic water.  Seeing nothing, I strip off my shoes and socks, roll up my pants, and find a shallower section to ford.  Sometimes, even sonic can has to take the occasional chemical bath, and if he can survive then so can I.

As I ford, I look back frequently, somehow expecting my pursuers to be crowding the opposite shore, cursing my timely escape.  Nope, just sand and rocks.   It's only when my pants become unfurled and I stub my foot several times that I realize I am, in fact, an idiot.  I stumble up the grassy slope, roughly don my shoes and socks, and try to figure out where the hell I am.  Wandering down a road takes me to a part of Xizhi I've never seen before.  I see a sign indicating the direction to Wudu, and in my sleep-deprived, alcohol tainted state of mind I fear I've wandered too far.  I look at the building signs and feel instant relief to see the characters for Xizhi.  You laugh, but I think it's only a few kilometers from the Xizhi stop to the Wudu one. Wherever I am, I need to resolve an immediate need; my adventures have left me famished, and it'll probably be a good idea to get something in my stomach after all this drinking.  As I bring my purchase over, the clerk at the 7-11 points a finger at my right hand.  "You're hurt."  I glance down.  Sure enough, my hand is smeared with blood.  I don't know where I cut my knuckle, and I won't know until I get home that I've been smearing blood from that cut all over my pants, already soaked with river water.  Sartorial elegance is not on my mind at the moment.

Navigation, if you've been reading this blog, is not my strong suit, and I wonder if I shouldn't just take a cab back home.  Wandering towards a bridge, and seeing what I take to be my apartment building, I take heart.  A beautiful stone motif beckons me down one path, and before long I'm passing through a winding alley, host to not a few heavy-lidded souls and their grisly business.  Pig carcasses, quartered and disemboweled, lay atop stalls that I fear may collapse at any moment.  Pig ears and pig sausages line the narrow alley, and pig heads stare at me with empty sockets.  They are as welcoming as the vacant stares from the butchers, and tell me the same thing: I don't belong here.  Luckily, I think I have my bearings straight and as I emerge from the alley a big, stupid grin creeps across my face.  Xizhi Station sits directly across from me, and the bus stop I take to the Zhongxing branch is on my immediate right.  I'm standing on Datong Road, and I am home.

Wuliaojian, the best hike in Taiwan (so far)- 五寮尖

Something about these consecutive six-day workweeks was getting to me.  I went to bed last Friday feeling like hammered shit, a feeling that dogged me until the glare of dawn pierced through my all too sheer curtains.  Staring sullenly at my alarm clock, it took all my willpower to roll out of bed with all the other poor Hess bastards.

1-day weekends: a truth of Taiwan I had somehow escaped for my first five months at Hess.  A luxury so treasured I'd been bold enough to refuse my manager's request to tack on a Saturday morning Focus class, and which consequently earned me the dubious honor of double Saturday classes.  And unlike my fellow trainees, the first five months of relative luxury had left me soft and untested.

On the walk over to the branch, I convinced myself that I'd be taking a one-way ticket back to Bedsville (population: me) after my four hours of classes, at least, if I didn't want to get sick again.  Six stretched-out minutes later, and I swung into the branch, waving brightly to the staff, all the while my heart beating in time to the dull pounding in my head.  Chewing mechanically on a Family Mart yam, its cloying sweetness like so much ash, I went through my morning routine- get my books, wait impatiently for the copier to turn on,  photocopy pages, swear at the results: words cutoff mid-page.  Rinse, repeat.  Ah yah, sleep's pretty nice, but I wouldn't take it!  My first student stepped in twenty minutes early, and I managed a few simple words with him while we both waited for the class we didn't want to attend.  More kids filtered in, and then the dreaded time had nigh.  That's when something happened, something that seems to happen every time I teach my Focus class.

It wasn't that bad.

"Happy, healthy, feel fantastic!
Boy, am I enthusiastic!"

And so class begins with a morning chant ripped straight from Mr. Starkey (best middle school teacher I ever had), though we skip the Ojibwe version.  My kids are talkative and we share a bunch of laughs before the bell rings, all too soon I think.  My headache has vanished.  As clockwork as the changing of the guard, the next class marches in, and it's two more hours of the same thing, though instead of family we're talking about the environment.  These kids are older too, and man, they know their shit.  Near the end of class I'm yelling at one student with mock severity and everyone is erupting with laughter.  Bringing it back to the focus of this unit, things become more somber before class ends.  I ask my students if they're aware of the nuclear situation in Japan.  Some of the older kids do, but others stare back blankly.  I tell them their homework, in addition to their regular load, is to look up a news article about the Fukushima nuclear disaster.  It can even be in Chinese, I just don't want them to remain ignorant about something potentially very relevant to Taiwan.  At the same time, I tell them not to lose any sleep thinking about a nuclear holocaust.  And with that, the bell rings and I'm free.

Far from dragging my feet, I feel infused with energy, enough to draw a line in my head.  Enough bowing in the face of Saturday classes.  Bitching about one-day weekends doesn't help me make the most of my time.  I slip out of my uniform and into my hiking clothes, eager to make the ascent up the Hike of a Thousand Flights [of stairs].  Up at the top of Dajianshan I sunbathe snake-like on a sun-heated boulder before making the descent to Xiufeng Falls.  From there, I trace the river downstream in my boxers, the only soul for miles in this wide expanse of wilderness.

That's a post for another time.

You see, there's a reason I'm talking about a hike in my homecity, hundreds of miles away from Wuliaojian, the TITLE OF THIS POST.  That Saturday hike, tracing and all, really defines a shift in my attitude toward living here in Taiwan.  Getting out and experiencing nature once more, after a month of weekends holed up studying Chinese and masturbating furiously, was just the sort of mental spring cleaning I needed.  Every boulder I scrambled over was like taking a duster and attacking the cobwebs of ennui that had spread, insidiously, to the deepest recesses of my brain.  And at the end, staring up at the falls spilling over the red heights above me, my mind clear and once more accommodating, I knew I wanted to be right out here in the embrace of nature once more.  Only I wanted to do it with the people I'd been neglecting for too long.

This is where Wuliaojian comes in, as well as my coworkers.  If you've paid any attention to this blog, you've noticed they really don't make an appearance.  At all.  I always had Brian to lean on if I wanted to go out and do shit.  Don't get me wrong, going out with a funny guy who's never extra weight is the best kind of crutch.  But it's still a crutch, and it's been almost two months since I've had it pulled out from under me.  I find it ironic that I'd make the forty+ minute commute over to his place every weekend when I had great people over at my end.  I'd just done a good job of convincing myself I had nothing in common with any of them.

So with a heart made buoyant from sunbathing above the clamor of Taipei, made clean by bathing in the limpid pool below Xiufeng Falls, I sent a text to Jaryd asking him if he wanted to join me for a hike up Wuliaojian, reputedly one of the most challenging trails in the Greater Taipei area.

"Sorry man, I'm going to be spending the night in Jilong."

Fuck.  Then that happens.

Before I go to sleep I get a message from him.  Turns out he's back in Xizhi and he's down to come with.  I ask him if Ash, one of the new English teachers, will be joining.  Yes he will.  Hell yes.  I haven't gone to sleep on a Saturday with this much anticipation in a long time.

******

Any blog you find on the internet about Wuliaojian is a little spotty on getting there.  They all recommend taking a taxi from Yongning (or as Tyler would say, 'Yongmin'), since there's no public transportation to the trailhead.  That'll run you about $350 NT, which, when split between a few people, isn't so bad.  I'm convinced there are other options.

The same bloggers recommend buying the cheap cloth gloves at the convenience store near the trailhead too, to prevent blistered hands.  One guy said his hands were bleeding at the end of the hike.  Any man (and I hesitate to call him such) whose hands get ripped to shit by a few ropes and chains owes it to himself to forgo robing himself in silken shame.  Hell, he should probably pour salt in his wounds too.  As I write this, I look at my hands, hands far from rugged.  Not a mark of ropeburn or blisters to be seen.  Pussies.

Dropped off at the entrance by our taxi, we make a quick stop for food before climbing up the mercifully short stairs, ungloved.  The stairs are quickly replaced by a natural dirt path, edged by a bungee cord handrail that seems to have capitulated in the face of multiple typhoons.  Shortly, we've reached our first rope climb as the trail angles sharply up strewn boulders and exposed roots.  After about a half hour we can look behind us, or rather below us, and see the river has shrunk to an azure ribbon. 

Typhoons, or shitty engineering?

Letting the light swallow me up.

With Ash and Jaryd the words flow freely and nobody's dragging ass.  We take frequent breaks to shoot the shit too, so nobody feels winded at any point.  As we continue the climb I realize that this very well may be the best hike I've been on since getting to Taiwan.  No bullshit concrete stairs to climb up, and oddly enough, not that many people crowding the path.  The climb is challenging and steep, with varied and beautiful terrain.  Even the signs are pretty easy to follow (when they're there; we lose sight of the path a few times), and getting here certainly was no problem.  Yes, this was the correct way to spend a Sunday afternoon.

A moment's respite

An hour or so and we're climbing around on the ridge, which proves less flat than the ridge at the top of Huangdidian.  Eventually we make our way to the most notable section of Wuliaojian: a sixty foot descent down an exposed rock face.  Reputedly the wait down can leave those without water and sunscreen suffering, but other than one retired army guy chilling at the top we had the whole face to ourselves.  There's three ways to get down, the easier section we immediately pass by, the harder section we took down, and the hardest one without any rope.  I couldn't tell if the guy was joking when he mentioned that last way.  Speaking of which, what was he doing up there anyway?  Guy didn't really seem to be in a hurry to get down.  Anyway, near the top the angle seems intimidating, but again, ignoring the advice of various blog sites and looking down as I cling on with a death grip, I realize the climb's not so bad. At the very least, I won't die if my hands slip.  Suffer grievous injury perhaps, but not death.  Going down flat-footed also proves no problem, my sandals gripping firmly to the smooth stone surface.  Near the bottom, out from the harsh sun, moss has a chance to grow on the rock, and I start relying more on my arms to make my way down as my feet scramble for purchase.

Interesting grotto that served no purpose

Favorite picture out of the bunch

Ash goes first.  Clearly enjoying himself.

I'm next...

...and Jaryd follows.

After all this we wonder if the hike is over.  Looking at a neighboring peak I point out a faint flutter of red at the top.  Where there's a Taiwan flag there's always a hike to prove one's mettle.  Roving down the side of the mountain, my eyes fall on a gash of exposed rock.  The brightly colored hikers scrambling over the earthen-colored rock make me wonder how I ever missed the path up.  We briefly discuss if we have enough time to finish the hike before meeting in Wende for board games.  I figure if we haul ass it shouldn't be a problem, considering we've been taking so many breaks.  Onward we go.

Looking back where the long rope climb down was.

I'm huffing a little bit as we push upward, and I can feel the lactic build-up in my calves and hams.  Presently, we emerge at the bottom of the scramble I saw from the bottom of the ridge.  There's a bit of excitement as I realize I have to do a bit of free-climbing to get to the hand rope.  Not much at all, but enough to push my heart a few inches closer to my throat.

A sign at the next fork is missing some crucial information.  We stare at the number roughly scratched out to the left of 'km' along the route we want to take.  Risking it, we later find out we saved a kilometer's journey.  Not much when your country is ruled by the mile, but I'll take it.  Playing leapfrog with another group, we make it to a giant tree, what makes for a natural gathering point.  Stopping briefly for pictures, we follow the trail of hikers all the way up to the Taiwan flag, flapping gently in the soft breeze as it rises just above the treeline.

Hail to you victors.

These start to look the same after a while.

From here, the hike's a bit elementary, following what could almost be a creek bed down to the road.  The rocks are certainly slick enough from moisture, and I slip numerous times on their mossy surfaces.  This is when I realize my right sandal is fucked, one clasp grimly hanging on by a thread.  Damn, guess I was a little rougher with them than I thought down in Kenting.  Nothing a good shoe repair shop can't fix, but that doesn't help me at the moment.

As we make our way down we try to figure out how we'll get home, whether or not to call a taxi or just hitchhike.  Ultimately, we settle on not worrying about it.  And it works!  While heading back up the road to the convenience store, our salvation comes in the form of a local bus heading back to Sanxia.  Yeah, so much for no local transportation you assholes.  I figure if we want to do this hike again, it'd be best to take the bus from Taipei to Sanxia and figure out things from there.  If we have to take a taxi at least it'll be cheaper.

I won't bore you with the details of our board game night but I will say this: Taiwan has Red Dragon Inn.  And my coworkers like playing it.  Thank God for small miracles.

Pair this with a bunch of $10 NT coins and a lot of Taiwan Beer and you've got a fun night on your hands.