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We were now standing on the final lookout,
DaBa now looking much more dominant and impressive than any photo
I've ever seen suggested. A steep burst of shale rock, with equally
steep shale cliffs giving away DaBa's secret that he is breaking
apart bit by bit as each day passes. Down a narrow spine of a ridge,
DaBa's smaller brother sits, just as majestically, just as steep,
but not quite as tall. Due to the extensive mountaineering experience
of our guides, we are given the option of climbing the smaller peak,
the larger, or both. After the obligatory photos at the lookout,
I made way for the second peak. Even in full daylight it wasn't
totally apparent how one would actually climb DaBa, or even get
to XiaoBa for that matter.
The metal frame walkway extending across a dangerous, windy col (high
pass between two peaks) separating the lookout and DaBa's peak, made
this walk a little safer. A fall to either side of this narrow ridge
would be painful to say the least. Beyond the safety of this frame,
I found myself on a path, barely the width of my foot in places, directly
under the main peak. With a bottomless, steep shale slope to the right,
and drops of water oozing out of the mountain above, this was not a
place to linger. Shale slopes happen because rocks fall down from the
peak - I was in prime position to get 'rocked.' Fortunately I and the
others all crossed this section safely - it was likely easier than it
appeared, but I feel relieved to be across in one piece.
The trail forks, leading to each of the separate peaks with nearly 1km
of trail separating the two peaks. With about seven others, I take the
right branch towards XiaoBa, leaving the others to challenge the main
peak. The ridge was an interesting, certainly more challenging than
the rest of the hike, though with care we all cross successfully. As
we near the peak a vertical rock face, with a few thousand feet of nothing
directly below, confronts us. A single rope dangles as the sole means
of support, not enough to inspire confidence in my weakening knees.
The hiker in front has some serious misgivings about taking that step
… that step that must be taken confidently … that step that
you take hundreds of time in a hike … that step that is a lot more
difficult for the weekend hiker to take when it is on a cliff than on
the flat. Eventually the stern encouragement (and strong hand) of our
guide leads her into taking that step and the few following ones that
were required to get her into the next wedge. With a little help from
some other hikers I take the same steps shortly after. Though the moments
of sunrise are the scenic memories of the hike, these steps are the
steps that I won't soon forget.
Finally past, I am alone on my way to the top. Though others from the
group had already reached the peak and were now heading across to the
big one, I am alone, with nobody in sight as I am about to reach the
highest place that I will have ever stood on Earth. Exhilaration? Relief?
No. Nervous and uncomfortable would probably describe my emotions better
- maybe even strangely disappointed - ever since I was a young child,
I had heard and read stories of people reaching mountain tops, figuratively
and literally. It always sounded so good … so exciting. Yet as
I scramble from rock to rock up to a peak that I can't yet see, I feel
legitimate fear. Even after reaching the narrow tabletop of a peak at
3418m, I still don't have that "on top of the world" feeling
that I have been told so much about. Is it because the taller DaBa peak
was less than 1km away? I don't think so. I don't even feel comfortable
standing up in the most central, "safe" part of this shale
mountain peak. The view seems just as good, if not better back at the
lookout. What I consider to be my first true mountain ascent, from bottom
to top, now feels a little disappointing. After a few more photos (maybe
not coincidentally some of the worst on the trip) are snapped, I am
ready for the descent. Happy to be heading for lower ground, I move
confidently over the same rocks that I hesitated on during my ascent.
Part of the reason that I opted out of the DaBa group was that I had
been told that there were some very difficult, time-consuming parts
of the climb. However, after ascending and descending the smaller peak,
I still have to wait nearly two hours for the bigger peak summiteers
to finish. A steep cliff and a large overhanging rock necessitate ropes
and harnesses as a safety precaution. I watch number of these climbers
drop down, rappelling past the overhang and back down to the trail with
mixed feelings about my choice not to climb this peak. Would I have
felt better if I had gone for the big one, or would it have been just
as unsettling? Maybe I'll never know. I try to shake these thoughts
and enjoy the view.
With peaks climbed and goals achieved, it is time to congratulate each
other, and contemplate the return trip. Thanks to our early start, I
had finished my ascent by 9:30am. After a long wait for the other group,
we finally return to the upper mountain hut, just below the lookout
ridge, in the early afternoon. Hours earlier I had dropped off my pack
here - though I enjoyed simply carrying my camera bag, I would have
been well served by the hat, sunscreen, food and water that were left
behind. (Altitude impaired judgment?)
As I walk away from the peaks, I begin to realize just how special
the view from the top was. The photographer in me was disappointed with
the quality of the light, but I was thrilled with the clarity of the
air, and the fact that I could, in daylight, see virtually the entire
trail that we walked in the dark of night. Though the mere 7km doesn't
sound like much, seeing the trail being passed from ridge to ridge in
front of my eyes, I gained a heightened appreciation for my vantage
and good fortune. I reflect that in my extensive travels throughout
Taiwan, I have never seen a view that could compare.
The experienced guides again set a controlled pace, realizing that
more than four hours still separate us from our temporary home at 2699m.
During the coming hours we climb and descend many metres, making the
gross elevation change more significant than the net change. Tired legs
and bodies begin to make noise … the unrelenting final climb of
the return trip, which had been the first relief-offering descent only
hours earlier takes a serious toll on energy levels throughout the group.
With each step away from the peak I gain more and more satisfaction
with my accomplishment, and am happy to be nearing home. For others,
there were more peaks to be had, as the opportunity to bag up to four
of Taiwan's 100 Peaks, a treasured group of mountains that break the
3000m mark, was one that couldn't be easily cast aside. Some are willing
to expel the extra steps and energy to make these additional peaks,
but I am not.
In the end, I relearned a lesson that I didn't need to learn again -
mountains are generally more fun to climb than to descend, especially
when the descent is steep and rocky. With legs and ankles tiring after
more than twelve hours of mountain walking, the final hour is very challenging.
The weather that I had worried about so much before the hike proved
a non-factor, even sporadically offering glimpses of magical mountain
light throughout the late afternoon. Long after leaving it, I finally
return to Hostel 99 at about 4:30 on Saturday afternoon. A change of
clothes and a slow, deliberate stretch later, I head to the easily reachable
sunset point. Though twenty four hours earlier I had avoided this crowded
point in (successful) search of a quieter, more open view, I am satisfied
with watching the sun drop over the distant peaks along with the crowd
of digicam toting others. The same sea of clouds that had been festering
in the valleys below all day long was now boiling out of control, swirling
winds painting an ever-changing picture in the last minutes of light.
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