The day was clear when we began our journey along the Shuao-Hualien Highway in the morning. In spite of the probable, if always unexpected, obstacles lurking ahead, we were confident we would be able to reach Hualien by evening. Blue seas and distant mountains beckoned to us along the way. At times we fell a little bit dizzy and uncomfortable as our wagon maneuvered around continuous sharp turns and bends in the road.
It was 3 p.m. when we arrived in Hoping. We were told that there were landslides ahead and we would have to wait for some time. The small town was quite dull and monotonous, and we soon tired of strolling around. The day began to wane rapidly, and there was no sign the cars would be permitted to proceed. Noticing that no one guarded the palisade, we decided to drive along it to see what was going on ahead. In the dusk, the switchbacks carved into the side of towering cliffs seemed especially lonely. Another driver with an adventurous spirit followed us. We were the only vehicles along the narrow asphalt road, until we pulled up to join several stopped trucks.
We got out to wait, and spied a pure, deserted sand beach 100 feet below. No footprints were visible—apparently no one knew how to get down there. We put on sweaters to ward off chilling sea winds and walked on until we encountered the landslide, which had totally enveloped the roadway under masses of loose, fallen rock. Several workers operating a Big John were clearing the mess. We did not really know how serious the condition was until one of the workers noted, "It's going to be impossible to get through today." For a moment, we didn't know what he was talking about. But when we realized, the first thing that came to mind was that we didn't want to spend the night in hopeless Hoping-giving us no other choice but to head back. The sea and the steep cliffs seemed especially treacherous and melancholy.
Our driver, Mr. Hsu, was kind enough to advise us to take a train on to Hualien city, where he would join us the following day if the road was cleared. After discovering that, in any case, there were no vacancies at Hoping's few hotels, we decided that the train was the solution. Actually, the landslide was not cleared until noon the following day.
Scenes on the road —A highly picturesque temple
Since we were behind schedule, we plunged ahead on our journey as soon as our car rejoined us. Even before we entered the spectacular Taroko Gorge, marble boulders started to appear. We bounced and rattled our way along the narrow, twisting road until we had passed through a steel-barred bridge. There, a beautiful landscape painting at once jumped into view-a red temple, encircled by a long stretch of red-brick walls, sandwiched between towering mountains and a deep canyon.
A narrow trail, sometimes hanging on the belly of the mountain, sometimes hid in tunnels within, leads on to the Chang Chung Shrine. A total of 222 ex-servicemen and their relatives are interred and honored here. At each side of the shrine is a moon-shaped door, calligraphically designated "Misty Rain Amid Streams and Hills" and "Pleasure with Flying Colors." Several young people were frolicking on the edge of a pool, its crystal clear waters running down through a streamlet to a cascade downstream. A vase of lotus flowers is set in the middle of the pool, the bright green leaves proving that it enjoys its situation.
To the right of the temple is a cave, marked with the messages "Reaching for Stars" and "Printing the Moon." A 360-step staircase leads all the way up to a turreted structure designated "Taroko," which offers a panoramic view of the Chang Chung area. Some women in aboriginal costume edged for tourist fees, which they 'earn by posing for pictures.
The central ranges, like waves, roll into the distance
In order to pace the sun, we did not stop again until we had reached the famous "Sparrow's Mouth." It constitutes a string of tunnels and semi-tunnels more like the mouth of a tiger than of a bird. Eroded by wind and rain over the ages, it is dangerous for tourists to explore the cave, and special warning sign-boards are erected to that end on both ends of the access tunnel. The steep peak on the opposite side of the "Sparrow's Mouth" is marked with numerous small holes said to shelter the nests of sparrows.
A stone's throw away is the "Nine Curves Cave." In fact, its switchbacks number more than nine turns, as its bends are strung one to another. The craggy peaks on both sides of the Liwuchi River, which runs far below, almost shake hands. The peaks contain rich quartz, which sparkles in the sunlight. The Liwuchi, snaking down the valley, gyres and gimbles ahead like a huge silver boa.
After passing over the Chin Heng Bridge, we noted a statue in a small park on the roadside. Chin Heng was the first engineer to give his life for the highway construction project. In 1957, he and three colleagues were hit by a huge falling rock. They fell to the gorge below. The East-West Highway took 10,000 workers 46 months to build, and was finally completed in 1960 after an expenditure of nearly US$11 million and 450 lives.
It is said that when Taiwan was ceded to Japan, aboriginal tribesmen gathered here to fight off the Japanese. Outnumbered, the aborigines retreated to a strategic location on Mt. Shan Chui. But as they were about to defeat the Japanese army unit, the latter released poison gas, killing all the aboriginal warriors. Chin Heng was not lonely after all.
The trail ahead followed the jagged contours of the mountain slopes, and the sun was sinking rapidly. The four-hour trip brought us to the China Youth Corps' Tien Hsiang hostel, which is perched on a cliff and commands a spectacular view. The vegetation along the mountain slope here grows so lush that we could see no sign of rivers below, though the sounds of running waters were audible throughout the night.
In the midst of the night we were waked from the deep sleep following the day's travail, by the rocking and swaying of two earthquakes. It is terrible to experience an earthquake in the depths of the mountains. I remember that I tried first to grab onto the wall, then to the bedding, fantasizing that I would be buried under huge mountain rocks. Though we soon fell asleep again, we were constantly pestered by nightmares.
Early on the following day we visited nearby Ta Hsun Temple. One of its memorable assets is its pedestrian suspension bridge. Such bridges are board and cable constructions which span otherwise impassable gullies or canyons. To reach the temple, we crossed the bridge, just six six-inch boards wide. These are laid side-by-side across painted red cables, separating the hiker from the depths below. The major suspension cables are just far enough apart so that, with arms outstretched, one cannot quite grab both the right and the left cables at once.
One must cross either holding on to one cable, and consequently teetering on the very edge of the narrow boardwalk, or walking down the center of the boards without the security of a handhold. Though the bridges bounce rhythmically as one walks, it is not impossible for one person crossing alone to get accustomed to the timing of his own steps. However, with two or more crossing simultaneously, the conflicting rhythms defy differentiation. It is best simply to plough ahead as quickly as possible. Each tourist developed a personal style of crossing—three characteristic styles are: the galloping horseman, the sleep walker, and the inchworm.
The bridge routed us to a night of stone steps leading up to the temple. They were so steep that some aged women were caught in the middle, physically unable to proceed. They wanted to worship in the temple, but their age betrayed them. Most of them worshipped, instead, at a small Earth God temple along a path branched from the middle of the staircase, before finally going on to the main temple on the peak of a small hill. There was no shade, and the blistering heat of the sun affected everyone.
About ten minutes drive from Tien Hsiang is Loving Mother's Bridge, constructed almost entirely from marble. A pair of marble lions guards its ends.
From here to Li Shan ("shan" means mountain), where we planned to spend the night, the altitude kept increasing. The road signs flying by announced—Wenshan 500 m, Loushao 1,100 m, Hsinpoyang 1,300 m, Tzeen, 1,995 m, and Tayuling 2,565 m. The sharp increases in altitude brought changed vistas to our eyes. Clouds engulfed us individually or en masse, and then spilled gently over our car. The vegetation became increasingly lush-the landscape more frequently punctuated by full-blooming mountain azaleas, cypress, conifers, and areas of highland steppe. Some suspension bridges appeared to be suspended in the clouds, leading to some invisible destination. The peaks of Yu Shan were still capped with snow.
The wagon swayed its way along the road, and we tried to ignore the unpleasant prospect of meeting a vehicle aimed directly at us, and the proximity of our car's outer wheels to the edge of the cliff. As we were about to doze off, a large snake suddenly criss-crossed the road and vanished on the verge of the cliff. We couldn't help screaming out. And once in a while, black crows kept us company, an ill omen in some Western traditions.
Though in the morning the snow-capped mountain seemed as far off as heaven, it took us only three hours to reach its foot. Wuling, at the apex of the highway, is also the watershed of the Tachia and Liwu river vallies. While we were running through a tunnel, one of the group noted: "For some reason, if you throw papers in the tunnel, they will fly in the air and stay there for a long time before finally coming down to the ground."
Bee and flower begin nature's technological process for the manufacture of fruit
From this point, we started to go downhill, and gradually the mountain slopes became covered with the white flowers of apple and pear orchards. Bamboo racks were constructed to support these trees, extending for so great a distance that their fresh vista turned old. We pulled up at the small village of Lishan at 2 p.m.
We decided to pay a visit to Fushoushan Ranch about l5-minutes drive from the Lishan Hostel. Along the way, the mountainload of white blossoms, sparkling under the sunlight and swaying in the wind, dazzled our eyes. Once in a while, we passed small villages of a dozen households. Ranch master Sung Ching-yung was happy to receive his unexpected visitors.
Sung recalled that 25 years ago, the ranch grew nothing but reeds. "At that time in Taiwan, you had to pay NT$5 for one apple, but only NT$1 for a whole basket of bananas. After the opening of the East-West Highway, we found Lishan to be 2,200 meters above sea level-the temperature here is about the same as in the northern part of mainland China. I knew that if we had temperatures under 7°C for at least 1,000 hours each year, we could raise apples; for 800 hours, pears; and for 600 hours, peaches. We register 1,500 hours a year when the mercury sits below 7°C.
"We imported 2,000 apple tree seedlings from Japan in 1958, ignoring derisive criticism from practically all walks of life. But we proved our whole scheme worth our while, because we began to harvest peaches in three years, pears in four years, and apples in five years," he said.
Today, of the ranch's 3,000 hectares of land, 500 have been developed. Of them, 60 percent is dedicated to apples, 30 percent to pears, and 10 percent to peaches and other fruits.
While guiding us on an itinerant trip around the ranch, Sung commented that the bamboo racks were set up to prevent typhoon damage. "Otherwise, 80 percent of the fruit will be blown off," he said. In the dusk, men were busy spraying insecticides and spreading fertilizers. "Since the trees grow on the mountain slope, the fertility is easily washed away. We have to apply more fertilizer to ensure good quality. In order to solve irrigation problems, we decided to make a loan of NT$200 million 20 years ago to build a pool some 27 kilometers away; it is connected to our ranch via 12 inch PVC pipe. Now we have an outlet every 50 meters to help farmers irrigate their land."
Watching us savoring apples harvested last year, the ranch master went on: "The quality of the fruit here is better than imported fruit for three reasons. The ultraviolet rays at high altitudes benefit the fruit, which loves bounteous sunshine. Second, by using organic fertilizers, we enjoy good soil ventilation. Third, we are also benefited by the great differences in temperature between day and night. High temperatures in the day time allow the trees to take in as much nutrition as possible; the low temperatures at night help prevent nutritional losses since the leaf stoma shut up."
At present, 1,700 retired servicemen and their families are scattered in 26 villages on the ranch-each village named after a Dynasty in Chinese history. We called on two of the villages and found most of the houses closed down, their owners still out working on the ranch.
As the sun set with a fiery glow, and the massive cypress trees then blotted out what little slanting daylight remained, the hospitable ranch master treated us all to a dinner in his residence.
On the fourth day, we rose early at 5 a.m. We were told that Tien Chih (Heavenly Lake) was about ten minutes drive up from the ranch and decided to watch the sunrise there-from the vantage of an altitude of 2,575 meters above sea level.
It was frozen hard in the morning, the great earth shrouded in a shimmering light. We knew that the sun was hidden behind a certain peak, and might jump up any time like a naughty boy. Without delaying, we rushed for the mountain. Our lips turned purple from the bitter cold and our tense mood-after all, we had engaged ourselves in a race with Apollo. It all proved that human beings are never to be on a par with the immortals. We lost the race. By the time we arrived at our destination, the sun was laughing triumphantly in the clear sky.
Aborigine girls', like bright red flowers, lure swarms of tourist cameras.
History reveals that during the Japanese occupation of the island, artillery troops were stationed at Tien Chih. Of ten cannon set up at that spot, two were directed to Wushe and two to Lishan to bombard the aborigines. However, the growing pressure was met by the aborigines' with intensified counterattacks. The aborigine warriors came and went like shadows amid the lake area's pine forests, ambushing the Japanese soldiers. For revenge, the Japanese burned off the forest.
After strolling around Heavenly Lake for a while, we were driven back inside the wagon by the cold. On our way back to Lishan, we had the leisure to really enjoy the landscape along the trail. Even today, the scars of fire are visible. Once in a while, a solitary pine snag stands amid cord wind-its bark charred away by the ruthless flames. Only the conscientious farmers down below some times give them company and listen to their whispering sadness.
Lishan is the midway station on the East-West Highway. From here to Tung-shih, the terminal of our journey, the altitude drops sharply, and the scenes seem to repeat themselves, though the lengthy road is as devious as ever. Such road signs as "DANGER!" "ROLLING STONES! WATCHOUT!" "CONTINUOUS SWITCHBACKS!" "LANDSLIDES!" kept jumping into view. We were happy that everyone of us has health and accident insurance.
As we traveled further along, damheld blue waters started to stick to us like a shadow. Not until we came across a majestic spillway did we realize that it was the Techi Reservoir. Gathering the waters of the Tachia River, it is the largest and highest dam in the Republic of China.
Man's proliferation on the earth challenges him to secure new riches through technology. Here, aspects of the great Tachia River hydro-electric facilities.
Cheng Te-mo, section chief for mechanical engineering at the Techi station, pointed out that at a height of 180 meters, the dam is 4.5 meters thick; it is 20 meters thick at the base. "The double curve arch design allows the thin dam to resist direct pounding from the waters," he explained.
"It took 25 years and NT$5.13 billion (about US$130 million) to complete the project. It also cost the lives of 31 fine engineers, including three Italians. Now the total capacity of the power station is 234,000 kilowatts, which is distributed mainly to 15 counties and to townships in Fengyuan, Taichung, and Tunghsih," Cheng elaborated.
He then led us to an elevator: "This is the highest elevator in Taiwan. It runs more than 200 meters downward, equivalent to the height of three and a half Hilton Hotels in Taipei." We were held breathless inside the elevator, running rapidly downward and creating a growing pressure on our ears. Exiting from the elevator is like walking into one of the mysterious science-fiction films so popular in America. It seems that someone may ambush you at any moment in the dim tunnel leading to the three huge generators. The buzzing sound of the generators seems to shake the whole construction. We "escaped" at once.
To reassure us of our security by the dam, Cheng remarked, "In December two years ago, the center of an earthquake occurred a dozen kilometers away from here. And here we are. Take it easy." Before we left the control room, he pointed to numerous signboards bearing the words: "Think Before You Touch." "That's our proverb," he said.
Outside the dam, the sun was bright, glaring. As we continued downhill, the vegetation became increasingly like that in the island's rain forests: tangled underbrush, rope-like vines, and umbrella-leaved plants. Once in a while we met an aged local woman, carrying a heavy load in bamboo baskets.
We were happy to carry back with us a permanent vision of this trip, which features both the majesty of grand vistas and the somewhat mystical atmosphere of a Chinese landscape painting, its diminutive human figures dwarfed by lofty waterfalls and craggy, mistenshrouded mountain peaks.