Rukai legend tells of a young man and woman from different villages who fell in love, but were forbidden from pursuing the relationship, as the two villages were at war. Unable to bear the thought of living part, the couple made their way to a large lake near the top of a mountain and committed suicide. The villagers, moved by their sacrifice, decided to end their hostilities and to commemorate the young couple by naming the lake after the young woman and the stream pouring out of the lake after the young man. Nowadays, the lake is most commonly known as Big Ghost Lake (大鬼湖), to differentiate it from Small Ghost Lake (小鬼湖), which lies further south and has its own associated myth.
There are at least four feasible ways to get to Big Ghost Lake. You can walk (or pay NT$9,000 for a ride in an off-road vehicle) a long distance up the Ailiaobei River (隘寮北溪) in Pingtung County, then hike uphill for a day and a half to reach the lake from the south. Alternatively, you can spend a few days walking along the ridge on the north side of this same riverbed, eventually descending to the creek coming out of Big Ghost Lake and then going upstream.
Another way to reach this ridge starts at Duona (多納) in Kaohsiung’s Maolin District (茂林). Finally, you can reach the lake along the spine of the Central Mountains from the north or the south if you’re already up there for another reason. Most commonly, this would be a trip that also includes the Wanshan Holy Pond (萬山神池) to the north and/or Small Ghost Lake to the south. Our group was on just such a trip when we visited Big Ghost Lake.
Photo: Tyler Cottenie
No matter what approach you select, it’s no easy task, and the return trip may take 4 to 8 days, or even longer for more unusual routes. In decades past, this part of Taiwan was not so isolated. Logging operations were everywhere, traces of which remain to this day in the form of isolated sections of abandoned road, long cut off from the plains below by landslides. Nowadays, it’s hard to find a more remote-feeling place on the whole island. In fact, after a few pockets of signal on Day 1 as we left civilization behind, we couldn’t find a phone signal anywhere until Day 9 of our trip. This part of the Central Mountain Range is all well below 3,000 meters, not rising higher again until Beidawu Mountain (北大武山) much further south, which probably contributed to the lack of phone signal. It is wise for anyone visiting the Ghost Lakes to bring a satellite communication device.
THE APPROACH
Considering how long the journey to the lake is, if you can’t enjoy the journey itself, then your comparatively short time at the lake will not make this a worthwhile trip. No matter which way you choose to enter, the trek will involve a lot of fallen trees, slippery roots and rocks, deep holes between these roots and rocks, small landslides, dense vegetation to push through or a find a way around and long stretches of unmarked and often invisible trail. This is not a beginner’s route, so be sure the group is led by someone familiar with off-trail navigation at this elevation.
Photo: Tyler Cottenie
That being said, the forest in this area is lush and largely unspoiled, with long, damp stretches where the trees are draped in moss and lichen, interrupted by dry areas littered in red maple leaves and hemlock-covered ridges, with open views to Taitung and Pingtung counties. The primeval beauty of the area is hard to beat.
After a visit to the Wanshan Petroglyphs in Kaohsiung (Taipei Times, Jan. 13, page 13), our team first climbed up to the abandoned Chuyun Mountain Forest Road, eventually reaching Chuyun Mountain (出雲) itself along the spine of the Central Mountains, where we turned south. The forest road is one of the most extensive ever built, with long branch roads reaching deep into the mountains, even crossing over into Taitung. Aside from a motorcycle, an old shrine and a helipad, little evidence of human activity remains.
The following three days were entirely without trail: we chose the easiest path we could through grass and forest while maintaining the right direction. We had tracks loaded in our phones for some of this section, but these were not always reliable: apparently some people are able to directly ascend vertical walls with no ropes. Even the most gradual slope we could find to ascend some peaks was unnervingly steep on both sides, with only grass to grab onto to pull yourself up. Once again, this is not a beginner’s route. The one saving grace was that all of our campsites were very comfortable.
Photo: Tyler Cottenie
We made use of the flat forest road for a campsite one night, camped at Wanshan Holy Pond the next, and spent the last night before reaching Big Ghost Lake at Blue Lake. This is not a lake at all but rather a few shallow pools sitting at the bottom of a large depression shaped a bit like a volcanic caldera, which provides unobstructed view of the stars.
THE LAKE
Just to the north of Big Ghost Lake itself are two smaller lakes (East Pond and West Pond), which we reached after a short downhill walk the next morning. Despite their small size, these lakes are both quite beautiful and worth spending some time at. On a clear, calm day, the reflection of the hemlocks on the surface of these ponds is a soothing sight. A large flat area between the ponds serves as a useful year-round campsite. Be careful when walking near the shore of these ponds as the ground is very soft and wet and it’s possible to lose a shoe to the mud.
Photo: Tyler Cottenie
We pushed on and soon reached the west shore of Big Ghost Lake proper. During the winter, when the water level is about two meters lower than the summer, there is a wide flat gravel area here that serves as a perfect campsite or rest spot. What stands out at first glance is the sheer size of Big Ghost Lake — several times larger than the other so-called lakes in Taiwan’s high mountains. As a Canadian, this is perhaps the only one I think deserves to be called a lake and not a mere slough. Seeing the blue sky reflecting on its 12-hectare surface almost makes the whole arduous journey here worth it.
The water is clear and definitely swimmable, as long as you mentally prepare yourself for the cold shock. We were here on a sunny winter day but the air temperature was only 5°C and the water not much warmer. If you drown here, there’s no recovering your body: the lake reaches a depth of 65 meters in the winter and 67 meters in the summer.
All around the lake, a bare band of rock indicating the range of this regular fluctuation is visible. Look behind the gravel beach and you’ll see a heavily eroded rock chute where the lake’s water overflows in the summer, when the lake level rises and covers the gravel beach. This, the start of the Shanhuanunu River (山花奴奴溪), is where the Romeo and Juliet of Rukai legend are forever linked.
One of the most important gripes that Taiwanese have about the Democratic Progressive Party (DPP) is that it has failed to deliver concretely on higher wages, housing prices and other bread-and-butter issues. The parallel complaint is that the DPP cares only about glamor issues, such as removing markers of Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) colonialism by renaming them, or what the KMT codes as “de-Sinification.” Once again, as a critical election looms, the DPP is presenting evidence for that charge. The KMT was quick to jump on the recent proposal of the Ministry of the Interior (MOI) to rename roads that symbolize
On the evening of June 1, Control Yuan Secretary-General Lee Chun-yi (李俊俋) apologized and resigned in disgrace. His crime was instructing his driver to use a Control Yuan vehicle to transport his dog to a pet grooming salon. The Control Yuan is the government branch that investigates, audits and impeaches government officials for, among other things, misuse of government funds, so his misuse of a government vehicle was highly inappropriate. If this story were told to anyone living in the golden era of swaggering gangsters, flashy nouveau riche businessmen, and corrupt “black gold” politics of the 1980s and 1990s, they would have laughed.
It was just before 6am on a sunny November morning and I could hardly contain my excitement as I arrived at the wharf where I would catch the boat to one of Penghu’s most difficult-to-access islands, a trip that had been on my list for nearly a decade. Little did I know, my dream would soon be crushed. Unsure about which boat was heading to Huayu (花嶼), I found someone who appeared to be a local and asked if this was the right place to wait. “Oh, the boat to Huayu’s been canceled today,” she told me. I couldn’t believe my ears. Surely,
When Lisa, 20, laces into her ultra-high heels for her shift at a strip club in Ukraine’s Kharkiv, she knows that aside from dancing, she will have to comfort traumatized soldiers. Since Russia’s 2022 invasion, exhausted troops are the main clientele of the Flash Dancers club in the center of the northeastern city, just 20 kilometers from Russian forces. For some customers, it provides an “escape” from the war, said Valerya Zavatska — a 25-year-old law graduate who runs the club with her mother, an ex-dancer. But many are not there just for the show. They “want to talk about what hurts,” she
RSS