The Pingxi Crags
Walking in Taiwan can be quite different to Australia. There are many interesting locations close to the large cities accessible by the extensive (and cheap) public transport system. For our last day in Taiwan, LS and I considered our options and settled on revisiting the Pingxi (平溪1) area.
A couple of weeks earlier we’d walked from Sandiaoling to Dahua in the rain. The first half of the walk was one spectacular waterfall after another, then things slowed down when the navigation turned tricky and the track became extremely slippery. With time running out, we had to skip a second walk to a set of three peaks in the forest near the town of Pingxi. Now we had a chance to try again.
When we woke the weather in Taipei was overcast but dry. Ideally we wanted it to stay dry — while I didn’t know too much about the Pingxi Crags walk, I did know it involved some steep climbing. If the weather worsened when we got up there, we could fall back to another waterfall walk.
As our train headed east from Taipei Main Station, the overcast became drizzle, which became light rain. At Ruifang we bought our tickets for the Pingxi branch line and found a second breakfast in the street market near the station. We were both feeling a touch of disappointment with the weather turning against us, but remained more excited for the crags walk than any alternative, so we decided to try it anyway. If it became too risky we could retreat.
The diesel railcar serving the Pingxi line rumbled into the station. The platform was full of people waiting to board, though most were bound for the tourist magnet of Shifen. The branch line is a pretty one, with the train running slowly through lush green forest and along the side of the Keelung River gorge. The little stations along the line are punctuated by tunnels and bridges.
Our railcar leaving Pingxi. A platform on both sides seems excessive.
We left the train at Pingxi Station and walked through the town. The narrow streets were deserted. We crossed a bridge high above the Keelung River, here running through an artificial canyon formed by the buildings lining its course. We followed the road to the start of the crags walk, which was marked by an odd little public toilet with Wild West saloon doors and a signpost pointing at a set of steps heading up the steep hillside. Taiwanese track builders love steps as anyone who has spent time in Taiwan will be well aware.
The Keelung River passing through Pingxi.
The steps skirted a gully where a small stream splashed down the mossy rocks. This was accompanied by thin pipes that had been haphazardly laid, some along the stream, some following the path. At first I thought they were cables until I heard water flowing inside them. The sheer number of them left me bewildered.
After reaching the top of the steps the path eased off, climbing gently through a thick forest of trees and bamboo, with undergrowth of ferns and elephants ears. The trees were smothered with creepers and epiphytic ferns. The rain left the forest fresh and glistening. Sky lanterns2 had crashed here and there in the trees, rubbish from the tourist industry in the nearby towns.
The rain brought out the colours of the forest.
Epiphytic ferns were particularly prolific. There’s a crashed sky lantern (dark red) in the branches centre right.
A short road section led to a trailhead carpark near an apparently abandoned house. Here we had a choice of routes, either to a central hub for the crags, or a loop round to the first of them. I chose the latter.
The steps began again, mossy and worn, but thankfully not slippery. We passed through a small gap between large rocks, green with moss, before resuming the ascent. Where the path turned right it squeezed past the buttressed trunk of a big tree, then continued steeply up increasingly worn and broken steps. When we paused to rest we noticed small birds throughout the undergrowth, busily rummaging in the leaf litter.
Never-ending steps are a common feature of walking in Taiwan.
A squeeze between some boulders.
Just below a saddle a crazy little side track appeared on our right. It was little more than worn footholds carved into the rock of the mountainside, fenced on each side by metal posts and rope. The smooth, wet rock wasn’t inviting, and I wasn’t sure where it went, so I ignored it and continued the short distance up to the saddle.
The saddle was nicely set up with a couple of bench seats placed amongst the trees. They were too wet to sit on today, so we ate our snacks standing up. There was another fork in the track here. The main track continued down the far side of the saddle, and a rough track labelled “Xiaozi Mountain” (孝子山3) branched right — this was what I had been looking for. A big yellow sign filled with Chinese writing was placed where it started. I guessed it was a warning, but didn’t translate it until later4.
Our climb to Xiaozi begins…
The wet rock gave us pause, but having come this far it was worth an attempt. The steps and footholds cut into the rock gave good grip, and the posts and rope gave us confidence. Some careful scrambling brought us the base of the peak. I hadn’t realized how close we were! It wasn’t at all what I’d been expecting — a spire of rock rose sheer above us, and from it dangled a knotted rope. I wouldn’t climb it when it was dry, let alone in the wet.
The ropes hanging down from the peak did not tempt me.
It appeared our first crag had come to a premature end. But the track continued around the peak, so we followed it and came to what was clearly the normal route to the top — a ladder and some extremely steep steps carved into the rock.
The normal way up Xiaozi is very steep, but better than hanging off a rope.
Once again, having come this far we both felt it was worth attempting. The ladder proved to be the hardest part of the whole day with its slender, round rungs providing an uncomfortably slippery foothold in the rain. The stone steps after it were easier despite their steepness. Soon I was walking past the two resident goddesses, and reached the summit with a feeling of euphoria. What a thrilling climb!
LS carefully climbed up to join me. A homemade plaque let us know we were at 360 metres elevation5. The top of the crag was tiny, with space for no more than a handful of people. The poor weather was in our favour here, as on sunny days these crags can get busy with inevitable traffic jams, whereas we met no one all day.
LS (blue jacket) begins climbing up to the summit of Xiaozi.
Selfie at the summit. The plaque reads “Xiaozi Shan 360M”.
Despite the rain the view was amazing. This was the first time we could see the surrounding landscape. Straight across from us was Cimu Peak (慈母峰6): a long, slender blade of rock rising out of the green forest. Steps had been carved into the rock along its crest, giving the impression of it being serrated. To its right was Putuo Mountain (普陀山7), a considerably taller peak with a larger summit. Up near its top was a bare rib of rock, again with carved steps. At its base was a dark gap, apparently a cave with objects inside it. Other peaks rose half-seen behind these two, with shreds of cloud and mist obscuring the view.
The steps up to Cimu Peak were next on our itinerary, followed by a drop off the righthand side.
Behind us, sandwiched between the forest and the roof of cloud, was the small town where we’d started. Although not far from the town, we felt very alone, a feeling accentuated by the weather and our precarious position. In fact, our isolation was even more illusory: the heart of Taipei was only about 20 km away, and the Taipei 101 building can be seen from the taller peaks in the area (for perspective, that’s about half the distance of Mt Dandenong from the Melbourne CBD back home).
We descended carefully and continued following the rough track on its circumnavigation of the peak. This was obviously the crazy side track we’d seen earlier below the saddle. But our perspective had been altered by our recent experiences, and we had no objection to it now. Soon we rejoined the main track and returned to the saddle.
Descending from Xiaozi: it was easier to climb down backwards.
Almost back at the main path.
After a short break we continued along the main track. Carved steps led us down to a sheltered valley nestled between the three crags. Many tracks met here, with options for Cimu, Putuo, a return to the town, and one unlabelled track. Hoping to finding the cave we’d seen from Xiaozi, I tried the unlabelled track. This led to a small grotto carved into the rock at the base of Putuo, which was inhabited by many small statues of deities. This couldn’t the cave, however, as there was no view back to Xiaozi.
Dropping down to the valley between the crags.
The grotto carved into the mountainside.
Returning to the junction, I tried the start of the Putuo track and found yet another side track branching off. This time it did lead us to the cave, which was a substantial hole in the mountainside with an an altar standing before it. Many statues had been placed within the cave, though the weathering of the years had rendered most of them anonymous. We had an excellent view of Xiaozi framed by the mouth of the cave, and could make out the line of posts and rope running up its left hand side. Despite having stood atop it a short while ago, it looked impossible.
Statues inside the cave.
It was close to noon, so we stopped for lunch back at the junction. The tree cover was thick enough to shelter us from the rain. It was peaceful in the valley, with no sound other than the pattering of the raindrops. While eating lunch I wandered around, looking at the paths branching off in all directions. We were about halfway through our walk, and this was already the third junction we’d reached. The network of tracks meant you could easily invent your own adventure.
Lunchtime in the wet forest.
From the junction we took the steps up Cimu. Despite being steep they were easy to follow. When we emerged from the tree cover Putuo stood in silhouette to our right. Along its ridge we could see the posts and rope of the path. Around us the other jagged peaks were partly hidden by the ragged cloud. To our left was another set of steps I hadn’t noticed before, but they ended abruptly on the rock slab as though the builder had tired of them.
Starting the climb up Cimu.
To our right was Putuo, with the posts and ropes of the path in silhouette.
The summit of Cimu lacked deities, but did have a small metal pillar etched with the name of the peak. We stopped to admire the view, heedless of the rain. The cloud parted for a moment, revealing Xiaozi clearly against a backdrop of mist. From this angle it looked even more vertical than before, and it seemed amazing that we’d climbed it.
For a moment Xiaozi stood out spectacularly from the mist.
The track continued along the spine of Cimu but we wanted to head over to Putuo, so we took a side track plunging down the righthand side. This again made use of carved steps, though these were far more rudimentary and eroded than any we’d had so far, and the ropes were more spartan. This was the dodgiest rock work of the day, though the wet stone continued to provide decent grip. We went slowly and carefully, and had no great trouble reaching the saddle below. At the base of the steps was another yellow sign like the one back at Xiaozi, but if it was a warning it was too late since we’d already finished the track.
Descending carefully down the side of Cimu.
A short walk along the main path brought us to the Putuo side track and yet another yellow warning sign. The track was partially cut into the mountainside as it sidled to the ridgeline. Then it became like the others, with carved steps straight up the ridge to the summit. Though it was easy enough, the ridge narrowed until it was no wider than the steps. Cimu was adjacent to and below us, giving us a clear view of the steps across its spine and the pockmarks of the track we’d used to descend its near face. The wind had picked up, and was blowing the mist across the ridge.
The climb up Putuo got very narrow, though wasn’t difficult.
The view back down to Cimu.
At the summit we were welcomed by statues of the Buddhas of the Three Families and, further on, a solitary statue of Guanyin. Differing from Xiaozi and Cimu, there was no wooden marker or steel post, instead we found a stone painted with the name and height of the peak. This was the most spacious summit of the three we’d visited, but despite being the highest it had the least views due to the tree cover.
The peak of Cimu (bottom) with the steps dropping down its face. Unlike Xiaozi and Putuo which rate being called “Mountain”, Cimu is merely a “Peak”, perhaps because it’s not a high point in its own right.
We lingered at the summit, enjoying its atmosphere. The trees provided us with shelter from the wind and rain while we topped up with snacks. After a rest we retraced our route back down to the main trail, past the Cimu side track, and continued over the far side of the saddle.
As we descended into the thick forest we entered a band of fog that added a touch of mystery to the beauty of the scene. The path zigzagged down to a junction where our choices were to go left on a long loop, or to turn right and head back to the town. It was an easy decision to head back to Pingxi — we needed to get back to Taipei, and we’d be in time for the next train (they run once an hour).
Fog blanketed the forest below the saddle.
The track followed a stream running along a small valley leading down to the Keelung River. There were occasional crashed sky lanterns perched in the trees here too. And once again I found more of those small pipes following the track. I wondered whether the townsfolk out here had to source their own water, and had rigged up their own plumbing?
Nearly back at the town. One of the mysterious pipes runs along the ground to the left of the path.
We emerged from the forest at a trailhead carpark, buzzing from the thrills of the walk. It hadn’t been a long walk measured in kilometres, but had packed in so much that it had been a special experience. Even the weather had been a positive, accentuating an already dramatic landscape.
Soon we were back in the town, where we followed the tiny streets to the railway station. While waiting for the train we admired the view up into the mountains where we’d spent the day, the rugged peaks half hidden by the cloud seething through them.
Footnotes
- “Pingxi” translates as “Flat River”, and is taken from the relatively flat bed of the Keelung River in the area around Pingxi and Lingjiao. ↩︎
- Sky lanterns are small paper hot air balloons containing a small fire to provide lift. These are released from areas like Shifen and Pingxi so tourists can send their inspirational messages up in to the sky to litter the forests and rivers. Besides the issue of littering, deliberately sending fire out into the forests is complete madness from my Australian perspective. ↩︎
- “Xiaozi” translates as “Filial Son” or “Dutiful Son”. There is a story that Xiaozi and Cimu were named in honour of Chiang Kai Shek (who was famed for his filial piety) by an old guard from his regime who is also responsible for the steps carved into these peaks. ↩︎
- The message on the sign translates as: “Hello everyone: The back section of the path is a non-public trail. There have been many accidents before. In order to maintain your own safety please don’t climb to avoid danger. New Taipei City Pingxi District Office reminds you”. ↩︎
- Xiaozi is the lowest of the three crags at 360 metres. Cimu is 410 metres, and Putuo is 450 metres. ↩︎
- “Cimu” translates as “Loving Mother”. ↩︎
- Putuo is named after one of China’s sacred Buddhist mountains. ↩︎
