As Yunlin County loses humans, it seems to gain birds.
The county’s population peaked at just over 800,000 in the late 1970s, since when it’s fallen steadily. So far this year, it’s declined by about 5,000, and now stands below 672,000.
There are several reasons for this. When it came to high-speed rail stations and science park extensions, Yunlin was at the end of the queue. What’s more, many Taiwanese prefer to live in major cities where there are more economic and entertainment opportunities and better schools. The county’s biggest settlement has just 108,000 residents.
Photo: Steven Crook
By contrast, Yunlin’s bird population is thriving, at least in the southwestern corner of the county. At this time of year, the wetlands of Kouhu Township (口湖) teem with waterbirds. Some of them are year-round residents. Others are migrants who’ve flown great distances.
Approaching from the south via Expressway 61, I overshot and found myself on the edge of central Kouhu, close to where a man and two women were washing slabs of salted mullet roe (烏魚子), then setting them out on long tables to dry.
When I asked the man if the absence of sunshine would be a problem, he confidently replied: “In half an hour, it’ll be sunny.”
Photo: Steven Crook
His prediction, it turned out, was spot on. If you want accurate weather information, ask a local whose living depends on it.
Sighting birds in what looked like flooded farmland just inland of the expressway, I scouted for a vantage point. Using my car as a birdwatching blind, I rolled down the driver’s side window just enough to use my binoculars and camera.
The first birds I identified were African sacred ibises, and there were at least five of them. Finding these elegant creatures was both satisfying and worrying. The former, because in a few years it might be impossible to see them in Taiwan. The latter, because it’s an invasive species that competes with native avifauna for food and nesting sites.
Photo: Steven Crook
The ibis entered local ecosystems by accident, after a typhoon wrecked an aviary in Hsinchu in 1985. In the years that followed, the wild population grew to several thousand.
Scientists have tried a few different ways to control ibis numbers. In 2010, a team from National Taiwan University sprayed ibis eggs with corn oil. This suffocates the embryo, while deceiving the parents into continuing to incubate the eggs, which ensures they don’t abandon the nest and try again elsewhere.
Reaching ibis nests is difficult, so recently the authorities decided to organize a conventional cull. Aborigines with hunting skills have been hired to shoot the birds.
Photo: Steven Crook
According to an Aug. 18 CNA report, the Forestry Bureau had predicted that, “by the end of this year, only a handful of African sacred ibises would be left in Taiwan.”
The end of the year is almost upon us. Was the Forestry Bureau’s declaration of near-victory premature? Getting rid of this species won’t be easy, that’s for sure. In one region in France, it took seven years to reduce African sacred ibis numbers by 80 percent.
A few minutes after seeing the ibises, I noticed a small cluster of Black-faced spoonbills, stoically enduring the northeasterly wind.
Photo: Steven Crook
The spoonbill is a rare and special bird. Thanks to habitat protection and other conservation efforts, its global population reached a record high last year of 4,864. In other words, even after years of consistent breeding success, there are fewer Black-faced spoonbills in the world than there are unwelcome African sacred ibises in lowland Taiwan.
The coastal portion of Yunlin is notorious for land subsidence, and several hundred meters to the south of where I’d spotted the ibises and spoonbills, what used to be valuable farmland has — from a human perspective — been ruined by a combination of subsidence, typhoon damage and saltwater intrusion.
Waterfowl are quite happy, of course, with the terraqueous appearance of what’s now known as Chenglong Wetlands (成龍溼地). Apart from some egrets, I didn’t see many birds there, but I did enjoy the various installations that artists Lee Kuei-chih (李蕢至) of Taiwan and Lua Rivera of Mexico have added to the landscape.
Photo: Steven Crook
Working my way south on Provincial Highway 17 (which hereabouts runs parallel to Expressway 61), I found Yiwu Pond (椬梧滯洪池) without difficulty.
This 400-hectare site, managed by Taiwan Sugar Corporation (台糖, TSC) suffers from continuing subsidence. Rather than attempt to farm the land, TSC has turned much of it into a flood-detention basin that’s been dubbed “Yunlin’s Sun Moon Lake (日月潭).”
Walking all the way around the pond took me almost an hour. If you’ve come all this way, and want to properly enjoy the destressing solitude that’s usual on weekdays, expect to spend at least two hours here.
Photo: Steven Crook
The pond’s duck population is considerable, and I saw scores of fish. TSC has planted a dozen different tree species around the basin, and constructed picnic tables, benches and shelters. But, I wondered, is it necessary to mow the grass with such enthusiasm? For the sake of insects and the birds that feed on them, wouldn’t it be better to let it grow long where visitors are unlikely to tread? Such quibbles aside, what’s been done here is laudable.
About 500m southwest of Yiwu Pond, Hukou Wetlands (湖口溼地) is the site of a radio broadcast antenna, hundreds of mangroves, and a pair of paths that make it possible to get well away from Yunlin Local Road 143.
With one surprising exception, I didn’t see anything in Hukou Wetlands that I hadn’t already seen earlier in the day. What I didn’t expect were so many ants’ nests, just above water. Most of them were about the size of a rice bowl.
I’d always assumed that ants can’t tolerate salty or brackish water. But it seems they’re tougher than I’d reckoned.
When I got home, I came across a research paper from the US that said that fire ants are able to “raft” (float on leaves or wood) in brackish tidal conditions. Also, I found that scientists in Taiwan have tested the mortality rates of different termite species by exposing them to water as salty as the ocean. Some species died off at an increased rate, but others were unaffected — prompting the scientists to speculate that termites might have spread from one part of the Earth via driftwood.
I’d enjoyed five hours of fresh air and exercise, and what I saw led me to learn something new about insects. What more could I ask of a day?
Steven Crook has been writing about travel, culture and business in Taiwan since 1996. He is the author of Taiwan: The Bradt Travel Guide and co-author of A Culinary History of Taipei: Beyond Pork and Ponlai.
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