Don't go chasing waterfalls

I couldn’t say that I’d ever waterfall-hopped or that I’d ever heard of it before or even if the term existed before I just wrote it. But during a day in the Pingxi district of northern Taiwan I made my way through a handful of waterfalls. A kind of progressive dinner, but for naturally-occurring, cascading water features.

The first of my three-course aqua buffet began in Wanggu. A light drizzle began to fall as the train departed and left me at the empty platform of Wanggu station. I checked the timetable for future reference and got some shelter under a disused, concrete bridge as the rain increased in intensity. Simply a passing shower, the rain dissipated after a few minutes. I was quickly on my way to the nearby falls. The Wanggu waterfall was reached by a short path from the station and, when I arrived, the waterfall itself was small but lively. The water crashed down with great volume. It was loud and strong. Pictures of the waterfall I had seen earlier showed a much softer and slower rapid but clearly the cascades were affected by the recent rain.

The rain drizzled intermittently for the remainder of the morning. Periods of strong sun shone through the jungle canopy and illuminated the light blue pool of water. The weather was a pendulum swinging between rain and sun, it was absorbed by indecision. Aside from the security camera surveilling and enforcing the no-swim rule, I was the only one there. I dunked my feet in the water but obeyed the anti-swimming regulation on account of the strong current which was dragging small rocks along the riverbank.

After a while I left Wanggu falls and began walking along a trail towards Lingjiao. Avoiding the path up and over Mount Lingjiao, I opted from the route around the back of the hill. I passed through the gardens of a couple of old houses as well as a small farm where I was pounced on by some angry geese.

Up until that point I thought, as a species, humans dominated geese. Apparently this had not been communicated to the group of future-soup dumpling fillers. As I made my way up the path, the avian attackers cackled incessantly and began making their way towards me. I stamped my feet and clapped my hands in an effort to show some dominance and power; I saw myself as a gang leader in an interspecies street war. The birds, though, were not intimidated. Sure, I was a gang leader, but my choice in choreography came across more like I was a gang leader featured in ‘West Side Story’. One goose came straight up to me and started pecking at my feet with its ugly, black beak. I considered kicking the bird straight in the face but instead chose to complete my performance of ‘Gee, Officer Krupke.’

Eventually a man came out of the farmhouse and began shouting at the animals. I don’t know if it was my intimidation tactics or those of my farmhouse saviour, but the geese moved aside long enough for me to pass through. I thanked the man for his poultry pacification and continued on my way to Lingjiao.

The second-course waterfall was much larger than the first. Water was falling rapidly from a height of about ten metres. Everything in the area was covered in a thick layer of slippery, green moss. Every stone, branch and concrete step was a slip hazard. The brown mud from the riverbank enveloped my shoes which made for my own portable slip system. Surfaces that weren’t already slippery were now made slippery by my act of stepping on them.

Across from the falls was a series of human-built caves carved into the rock. There were hand-carved staircases connecting the small caves which had openings overlooking the falls. A couple of cement toadstools were also installed across the area, but were too moss-covered to sit on. The small cave world felt like a jungle wonderland, the type of place inhabited by Oompa Loompas. The faint, faded image of a topless Asian lady printed on tiles cemented into the inside of a cave wall spoke to a different use for the caves.

By early afternoon I was on the train to Shifen, my final waterfall. This was the big one, the “Niagara of Taiwan.” I wanted to make sure I had plenty of time to get there because the falls closed at six each day (assumedly that’s when they turned off the water).

The relative isolation I felt at my first two waterfalls was offset by the tour buses in Shifen town. Back in a more populated village, I was finally able to get some lunch. Given that it was already mid-afternoon, many lunch places had already closed so I grabbed a fried rice-stuffed chicken wing from a local vendor and continued through the town’s main street.

Only two trains pass through Shifen every hour and the train tracks run through the centre of the main street, inches away from local shops. As a result, taking selfies on the train tracks is a very popular activity for visitors on their way to the waterfalls. Another popular tourist money-gouger is releasing sky lanterns. A tradition of religious origin, visitors buy a lantern about four feet tall and, through a lit wick inside, release it into the atmosphere. The lantern is covered in notes written by the releaser, hoping that their inscribed wishes will come true as the lantern ascends towards the heavens. It certainly makes for a great video to take home.

Unfortunately if you keep an eye on the lanterns you’ll notice that the wicks do not burn for long. In fact after less than ten minutes the lanterns burn out and quickly descend back towards the earth. They litter the surrounding jungle and get dropped only a few hundred metres upstream from where they were released. With that cynicism in mind, I chose not to release a lantern and instead spend my money on a bowl of taro balls and shaved ice.

Back to my final major waterfall for the day. Past the full streets of the main town, past the tourists information centre, past the many cafes and restaurants on the way to the falls, over two suspension bridges and past another series of gift shops, I was finally at the Shifen waterfall. It was my last fall of the day and it certainly was the grandest. My dessert was also my heaviest course.

From the various viewing platforms around the falls, I watched as the strong flowing river crashed twenty metres down. The spray jumped off the river in all directions. It shapeshifted and weaved its way through the air like a huge, friendly ghost. The rain started again but it didn’t matter. The thunderous roar of the waterfall had already drenched all those who had dared visit it.