Standing to the southeast of Chushan among men tsung bamboo groves, Ta-an exploits its neighboring mountain and forest terrain; its 94 households largely earn their livings from lumbering and from gathering bamboo shoots. Covering a total land area of 34 square kilometers, Ta-an rises 480 to 1840 meters above sea level. The pathways in its woodlands are often shaded by the dense foliage of the bamboo.
We got a ride on a truck which took us to Shui-hsiao at 11 a.m. From here on, we had to travel on foot.
We filed downward along a small passage snaking amid the bamboo groves. Only two minutes after descending the slope, the sound of running water filled our ears. We had arrived at the Shuan-wen Sword Well, which instead of being the water body we were expecting, was a silver white cascade sparkling down the face of a cliff.
It is said that in 1787, during the reign of Emperor Chien-lung of the Ching Dynasty, Lin Shuan-wen rose up against the Manchu Court. Defeated, he retreated back to Ta-an and threw his swords and gongs in a nearby well. The well, the story goes, was sealed by the mountain's erosion, and is marked now by the 15-meter waterfall cascading into the river below. Mr. Tsai, our guide, pointed out that the quality of the water from the Sword Well is clear, even on rainy days, when the rivers turn muddy. Therefore, those who love to savor the teas of the island have always said: "Find fine teas at Tung Ting, but to get quality water, go to the Sword Well."
We headed down the trail along the Shui-hsiao River until we came on Twin Pond, hidden amid wild grasses and trees. By this time, we couldn't remember how many stone staircases we had descended or how many house-of-cards bamboo bridges we had crossed. But as we braved onward, the slope became sharp, and bounteous underground waters started to ooze out. Here, dark green mosses cover the stone staircases, which are, consequently, extremely slippery.
The sound of running water became thunderous, and we reached the bank of the Ti-tze River. A bamboo bridge arched across it. We filed onto the bridge, the rushing torrents beneath our feet drawing and dazzling our eyes. The roaring sounds of the water seemed to pound in our hearts. We sat down on the huge nearby rocks to enjoy the majestic sight.
A stone's throwaway stands a cave temple dedicated to the Earth God and Goddess, which was actually excavated from the natural rock. Statues of the Earth God and Goddess and the Duke of Stone, housed in the cave, await the residents of Ta-an. Mr. Tsai explained, also, that since the trail is hazardous, tourists and townsfolk alike stop by here to pray for safety. We also burned incense sticks to secure the gods' protection.
It was after we had plunged ahead that we really understood why people felt such need to seek heavenly protection. Our next destination was the river bend at Ching-lung (Green Dragon) Waterfall. We had to grab at rattans growing along the right side and to leap from rock to rock like frogs. The travail was well reimbursed, however, when we arrived at the river and witnessed its cataracts, like a thousand galloping horses, racing to a pond below. It was as mighty as the spectacle of the full sluicing of a dam. Some of our more daring companions decided to move closer to get a better look at the waterfall. They had to watch every step, because the never-dry rocks were densely overgrown with slippery moss.
At this point, a passage branches to the right, leading down to another scenic highlight-Hell's Valley. Hiking down from a steel bridge, we came across a cave in a soaring cliff believed to have served as a bat's resort. Since the bats have apparently moved away, it has became a good resort for travelers seeking to escape rains or hot sun. Four minutes from the cave, we came across a 200-ping (7,200 sq. ft.) river-bank meadow offering fine picnicking, barbecue sites, and takeoff spots for frolicking in the water. The area is called the Terrace of Ten Thousand Ping.
Across the huge mountain wall on the further bank, a thin waterfall runs a thousand meters down to the riverbed. Some townsfolk call it the Screen Waterfall.
On the terrace stands a rock as huge as a bungalow, leaning obliquely toward the riverbed. Since it stands on two points only, no one knows when it will turn a somersault and roll down to the riverbed. Be that as it may be, it has acquired the name Immobile Stone.
Next to it stands a rock with bumps and holes like the noses and eyes of human beings. People call it the Eyes of the Dragon and Phoenix, also a must sight on the hike.
As the sun started to set, we decided to head back to our residence on another trail, along which falls the magnificent Waterfall of Hundreds of Silk Strands.
Since our guide had warned us that our travel on the following day would be even more challenging, we got up early enough to start our venture at 8 a.m. In just the first 20 minutes, we covered the trails we had passed the previous day. It seemed that our footprints were still visible.
However, the road became more and more obscure as we descended. First opened by bamboo-shoot gatherers, it was now evident that the trail was about to be deserted. Because of the precipitous decline, the proliferation of grasses and fallen rocks, and the water overflowing this trail, Mr. Tsai had asked his father and another townsman to travel along. They wielded bolo-knives ahead to chop away broken tree branches and sharp, giant wild grasses. As our pioneers slashed their way, we followed discreetly. The fresh aroma of grass helped keep up our spirits.
Just as we were overjoyed on finally hearing the sounds of rushing rapids, we suddenly came to a dead end, and had to climb up wood ladders, one by one, to reach our destination. Since their wood was apparently worn with age, we felt extremely tense ascending the ladders; as one of our female members was laboriously climbing, her ladder suddenly broke in two. She had a frightening slip, but fortunately did not fall into the unfathomable abyss below.
Our hearts throbbed again when we came into view of the 50-meter high Waterfall of A Hundred Turns. Standing underneath the fall, we watched its silver white waters surge from a verdant grove to slash down the high cliffs in a sort of M-shape. We descended to a bamboo bridge right on the nose of the waterfall, to be even more awed by the grand sight.
We decided to take a rest in a hut constructed by bamboo-shoot gatherers while our guides scouted the trail ahead.
The trail kept on descending, and in 15 minutes, we arrived on the bank of a river. We had to wade across a ford, no bamboo bridges being available. This stream is the springhead of the Hsin-liang Waterfall, so named to commemorate teacher Chiu Hsin-liang, who died a tragic death with a slip of the foot at this spot. We burned some ritual paper money to warm the heart of his lonely ghost.
We plunged ahead on the foot trail, accompanied by the monotonous whipping sound of the knives, hiking for about half an hour until we finally reached more "walkable" paths. Traveling along the Chien-wu-tze River, we came to a raised terrace, where we decided to have our lunch. Our guide even boiled a large pot of bamboo-shoot soup for us, to help us revive from our painstaking trip.
It was still the rainy season, and the waters ran so strong and rapidly that the normally green currents turned pale. We were somewhat worried that we wouldn't be able to complete the trip to the newly celebrated Taichi Canyon.
The Canyon is a unique rock formation with its own thin waterfall gliding obliquely down the rock in an S-shaped course. The natural hues and grains of the rocks, mostly brown and coffee colors, contrast sharply with the crystal blue water down below. White foam created by the pounding of the water spreads like a thin layer of gossamer.
We were tempted to turn about and go upstream. In the beginning, we could still hop along on the rocks. In no time at all, though, we had to take off our shoes and socks and walk through the freezing cold water. We didn't know when the water would steal up over our knees. Everyone of us leaned on the rocks in the river, trying every step discreetly, fearing a fall into a pit in the riverbed. Our guide told us that in dry season, there is no water in the riverbed, and you can walk wherever you like.
After wading for ten meters, we climbed up through a crevice in the rocks. But we still couldn't keep our feet dry, because tiny rivulets ran wild amid the rocks. But it was not the ending of our ordeal. We were told to wade an even deeper stretch of water, rising to our waistlines; we almost decided to give up. Some of the men were chivalrous enough to volunteer to help carry the ladies on their backs over the treacherous passage. Some of the ladies plunged ahead, knowing there was no way to keep their clothes dry anyway. The only thing that supported us now was the temptation to reach a new, virgin land.
When we finally left the icy water behind and planted our feet firmly on sandy ground, we felt somewhat as if we were floating in the air. The rock banks flanking the riverbed suddenly rose steeply into the blue sky. We had come to a fault zone of rock formations.
The fault zone rises about 80 meters. To pass its cliffs, people have to plant their hands firmly in the rock, while squeezing their feet in crevices. Our guide told us to comply with the theory, "Move only one point; keep three points still." As the altitude rose, our venture really became intolerable. We were breathless. Fortunately, a rope appeared in time to serve as a "handrail"—still, we were dizzy looking down at the swift current. Mr. Tsai told us that in the past, a bamboo raft served as a transport vehicle, but it was, unfortunately, washed away in a cloudburst. New challenges showed up one after another. In the last section of our trip, the fissures became so small that we were actually traversing on our toes—with the rest hanging in midair.
Right next to the fault zone is the Rainbow Waterfall, about 100 meters wide. The water spray amid roaring torrents made it difficult to bypass. Some of our companions decided that it was too much for them, and started to head back. For the die-hards, nothing was now impassable. And we were rewarded with two grand sights—the Waterfall of A Thousand Layers and the Hurricane Waterfall. The first waterfall is guarded by two rock cavities, resorts for bats. People, unaccountably, call them the "Two Sparrows Guarding the Lake." Those who love adventures can take thrill trips inside the huge caves.
Contrasting sharply with the roaring and rushing "Hurricane" is Tranquil Lake, to its left. Though it was the rainy season, the lake was peaceable, still as a mirror. Sitting on a raised stone platform, we were treated with a grand nature symphony, with the waterfalls playing trumpet, the bat caves the violin, and the lake a tender flute.
Passing the lake, we climbed an 8-foot bamboo ladder and, further up, with the help of a rope, reached the Pond of the Full Moon. Here we also got a closer and better look at the Taichi Cataract. The S-shaped course of this waterfall reminds people of the eight mystic diagrams as specified in the ancient Chinese Book of Changes.
Only four of our 15 completed the entire journey. And Mr. Tsai told us that we were about the only group that had dared to pry into the canyon areas in the rainy season.
The sun was set when we finally headed back to our residence, our soaked clothes sticking to our chill skins amid an equally chilly wind. But we were happy about our exploration of this unique Taiwan canyon, boasting so many waterfalls, pools, and spectacular rock formations. Even when we were safe on our bus, headed back for Taipei, we could still feel our feet hop over the rocks and dip into cold waters.
—By Shih Li-wen, "Outdoors"/ free translation by Huang Yu-mei