Jiangliaozi Cliff and Waterfall- 姜子寮絕壁跟瀑布

My sweet ride

Ryan and Katie were vacationing in Borneo last week, and as both a favor and a duty, they'd loaned me their scooter.  The thing is held together by rust, spit and dreams, and if it went a whole week without starting up, who's to say it'd ever do so again.  With many of Greater Taipei's bigger hikes under my belt, I decided to try something smaller, more intimate, and accessible only by scooter: Jiangziliao Mountains.  Double Ten Day (Oct. 10), or Taiwan's National Day, would offer just the mid-week hiking chance I was looking for.  However, the directions I'd found on the internet mentioned Highway 3, a flower highway, presenting an immediate concern; scooters aren't allowed on national highways in Taiwan.  Hell, neither are motorcycles under a certain CC.  Considering some of the crazy shit that happens on them I guess I'm not surprised:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lpW1UhdX8zM

I find an alternate route on googlemaps that's as straightforward as the original, and even more accessible from my apartment.  Trusting my navigational skills, skills much improved since coming here, I strap on a helmet, press the ignition and zoom away.  Conscious of the unusable right brake, I reign in my speed on Datong Rd, the main drag near my apartment.  A scant fifteen minutes later, finding myself in the mountains on long stretches of uphill road, I give the scooter its head, enjoying the beautiful weather and lush scenery around me.  As I drive, wind rushing full in my face, I strongly consider buying my own scooter, a financial decision previously occupied by the less glamorous bicycle, which itself has been long deferred.  If I'm going to be here longer than a year it's worth looking into, especially since all the awesome less-touristy hikes require personal transportation.

Before long I'm at the entrance to Jiangziliao Park.  The grounds are well-maintained, with an attractive red brick walkway shaded by trees blooming in bursts of pink-orange flowers.  I smile at the thought of flowers in October, yearning for the brilliant autumnal palette of my hometown.  Still, the flowers are a welcome infusion into the otherwise endless maw of green.  You can have greens in a hundred different shades, but after a while you stop thinking in terms of Hidden Meadow and Celery Sprig (actual paint tone names), and start thinking in green, brown, and, if you're lucky, blue.

A kindly old man directs me away from the well-intentioned signs to Jiangziliao Cliff, motioning me towards the road.  I thank him and make my way towards a trail rougher, and in his words, more stimulating.  Before I even have a chance to poke around he comes chugging up on his scooter, points out the trail markers along the path, and nods me on my way.  Trail markers- I don't even think to look for them.  You see them in so many places they start to lose any sort of meaning.  Kind of like travel blogs.

The less stimulating trail

The more stimulating trail

There are stone steps there, lurking.

The trail up, though laid with natural stone steps, looks seldom used.  In parts, shrubs have grown up in a knee-high screen, a bid to reclaim lands by right.  I enjoy the uphill push, pausing below a musical rivulet, feeling the cool vegetation brush my shins, getting lost momentarily in a meadow as jarring as it is welcome.  When I'm deposited back on the road, I see the same old man sitting patiently astride his scooter, and I wonder if he's stopped here just to make sure I don't get lost.  He indicates the main trail ahead to the cliff and waterfall and with a simple wave, almost a shrug, takes off, further cementing the thought.

Even the rivers don't like the stone steps here.

Top right rock is the "slab"

Just like with the last hike, the trail here is really more of a suggestion.  I duck under the rope at odd points, finding myself looking up a bright, blue sky above and clear, blue water below.  Further along, I stray again from the path, this time walking on a flat slab of rock.  To my right, I see what can only be the waterfall, and I'm game for getting a closer look.  From the slab I'm able to jump down across the river, then work my way up against the current.  The waterfall, like so many things in Taiwan, is small yet breathtaking.  I'll let the videos and pictures speak for themselves:

Reluctantly moving past the waterfall, I find the river flattens out dramatically where Jiangziliao Cliff looms overhead.  The trail deposits you at a viewpoint directly across the river from the cliff, where you might possibly develop neck pains taking in this sheer precipice.  I, unsatisfied at such a short hike, especially considering I had to scooter here, decide to once more duck under the rope and continue on.

I could spit out volumes of prose expounding on the beauty of this mini-trace, but it'll just be more of the same.  My pictures don't do justice to the hike, and my words, even less.

I'd be content to end this post here, but an "interesting" thing happened to me while heading back.  On the lookout for some other waterfall I'd seen a random sign for, I inadvertently end up scootering all the way out to Jingtong (this hike), or close enough.  Deciding to turn back in case the scooter craps out on me, I end up stuck behind a car weaving quickly enough down the narrow mountain road that I decide not to risk passing him.  At one of the sharper curves, I clamp down on the left-hand brake.  No response.  Hmm, that's disconcerting.  I squeeze harder.

No response.

The car in front of me looms closer.  This is why scooters have brakes for both wheels.  Frantically, I start pumping the handle, but with no more time to spare I'm forced to swerve onto the oncoming traffic lane.  Casual mountain-goers pause to stare as I manage to stop shakily on the side of the road, swearing loudly.  My brakes choose to start cooperating after some coaxing, but for the rest of the ride back I'm left with the feeling that I'm on a ticking-time bomb, ready to go off, or cut off, at any moment.  Getting into an accident and it'd be Dahsit City, population: me.  No scooter license? Check.  Riding on a vehicle I don't own?  Check.  Stranger in a strange land?  Check.

Able to escape from potentially life-ending disasters unscathed?

Check.

Da Gou Xi and Yuanjue Waterfall-大溝溪親水公園和圓覺瀑布

I had some time to kill two Saturdays ago before Ash's birthday festivities, and I was tired of typhoons slamming into us like clockwork every weekend.  Hell, half the time they don't bring much more than heavy rain and gusts, and I know for a fact that some enterprising owners in Xizhi keep their night market stalls  running through the worst of it.  If they're bad-ass enough to ignore the typhoons then what's my problem?  I decided I'd find a short hike close to home, just in case a real storm materialized this time.

Getting off at Dahu Park, I look up at the sky to judge the merits of my decision.  The ribbons of bright blue in a predominately grey sky are encouraging, yet make no hard promises.  Working my way north from Dahu Lake, I pass through a wedding boutique and a dog saloon, signs of the affluent neighborhood around this part of the Brown Line.  Buildings sport showier facades, more recent architecture, and much less streaking from acid rain.

Within fifteen minutes I'm at the entrance to Da Gou Xi Riverside Park.  During Typhoon Winnie in 1997 this area was hit particularly hard, and extensive renovation efforts were made to not only restore the river, but transform it into a beautiful park.  A park that could, in the event of a heavy typhoon, double as a flood reservoir to protect homes downriver.

I see quite a few elderly people toting umbrellas, surprising since a typhoon's supposed to be hitting any moment.  I guess they've been through enough of these to decide whether or not the reports are worth heeding.  The cool afternoon air mixed with the subdued sky sets a peaceful tone for the hike, and I slow my pace alongside the river.  Even though I've found myself yearning for 'wilder' hikes, hikes that haven't suffered the civilizing touch of 'well-intentioned' bureaucrats, I find myself admiring the cobblestone path, and the bank edged with natural stone.  The effect is charming, and I almost forget I'm deep within metropolitan Taipei, rather than on a bucolic stroll up in some mountain hamlet.

Crossing a couple of blue-painted bridges takes me on the path towards Yuanjue Falls, the whole point of my trip.  I note with some skepticism that the cobblestone path has morphed into the typical ugly concrete bricks common throughout Taipei hiking trails.  As long as they're no steps I'll be fine.  My lack of faith, however, is misplaced this time.  The path, though developed, runs along a river that is enchanting...and unspoiled.  Enormous boulders lie strewn about, gently tumbled by the river's steady flow.  Everything is covered in a shimmering blanket of green moss, with patches of orange and brown cropping up now and again.  Chances to leave the path for a bit of solo tracing are plentiful, and more than any other river in Taiwan I've been on, I feel dwarfed crawling around the rocks, dry but for the barest tips of their toes.

The paved trail makes for easy hiking, and even taking my time with detours into the river, I arrive at the waterfall in little time.  Winter is coming, but I make plans for this trail next year; the dense canopy above makes it an especially attractive hike during Taiwan's energy sapping summers.  The rain, a light mist for most of the hike, decides at this point to pick up, and I seek shelter underneath one of the stone umbrellas in the nearby recreational area.  Growing restless from just sitting, I realize that I came expecting far worse, and so I leave, cruising up a flight steps to what I hope is the top of the waterfall.  No such luck.  I won't discover the real view of Yuanjue Falls until the end of my journey.

Great pillars of rock lay submerged under the water, like the last vestiges of a once mighty empire.

A wall of living earth.

Waterfall's above those ugly power lines.

Instead the steps wind upward through the forest, passing a small Buddhist retreat, and depositing me at the foot of a large temple, the foundations spartan, the main grounds undergoing repair.  I walk up to the second level, uninterested in paying my respects to some earth god I know nothing about.  A woman looks at me as I step into the courtyard, her expression neither stern, nor benign.  I nod timidly, losing my nerve, and come back the way I came, even though I see a nearby cat.

Right before the steps plunge back down into the forest, there's a roped trail climbing steeply up.  One of those 'hiking association' trails which follow the electric towers dotting northern Taiwan's mountains.  I guess there are local Taiwanese who dismiss paved paths and crave more rugged hiking.  I wouldn't exactly call marking previously blazed trails with little red and white ribbons 'rugged', but I'll take what I can get.  The path is little more than gnarled roots weaving over spongy clay soil, and the lush, dripping-wet vegetation caresses my face many times on the way up.  The rain is picking up steadily, and when I realize there's little chance of it stopping soon, I decide to head back before my clothes become more parts water than cloth.  Water and mud have seeped into the bottom of the sandals I oh-so wisely chose to wear, and my feet make squelching sounds as I run ponderously down the trail, my feet sliding to the very front of my sandals with each heavy footfall.  Before long I'm at the top of the stairs near the temple, my ankles faintly protesting.  From there, it takes even less time for me to get back to the waterfall.  I poke around in the river, trying to find a way up to the impressive view I know lies waiting.  As I'm thinking this task would be much easier in some Mowgli clothes, I see a lone figure standing far above me, umbrella in hand.  I'm sort of pissed that I wasted all this time crawling around like an idiot when the path was obvious enough for some parasol-toting neophyte to find, but no hike is really about the destination, right?

Wrong.  I immediately recross the river and head up towards him.  Turns out you have to leave the stairs almost immediately and hunch through a short tunnel in the rock, which deposits you on the flat surface of a boulder opposite the falls.  Sweet, I knew those pictures on the internet weren't taken by helicopter.  Now I could have my own beautiful shots of the waterfall, just with shittier lighting and equipment.

Yuanjue Waterfall, with shittier lighting and equipment

After that as wet as I was, though thankfully still warm due to my fleece, I decided not to linger.  I hauled ass down the mountain, passing by people moseying along under umbrellas and rain gear, and headed over to...the game rental store?

Yep.  Renting Smallworld was somehow more important to me than getting home as soon as possible and changing out of my rain and sweat drenched clothing.  I haven't been feeling 100% lately, and while it's almost certainly due to the changing weather, contamination from my more sickly co-workers, and my perennial lack of sleep, this couldn't have helped.

But...Smallworld.  I think I'm feeling better already.