It took 12 years and months of standing in the same mountain location for director Liang Chieh-te (梁皆得) to capture a few seconds of footage: Taiwan’s largest resident raptor locking talons with its mate and spinning through the air in a courtship ritual.
With only about 1,000 left in the wild and very short flight windows, the mountain hawk-eagle remains among Taiwan’s most elusive birds.
The species generally produces only one offspring per year due to its wide territorial range. Using forest cameras, the film crew and research teams document the arduous process the monogamous pairs go through for the chick to hatch and grow up, weathering typhoons, predators and human-caused threats.
Photo courtesy of Cai Chang International
Fly, Mountain Hawk-Eagle (飛吧！熊鷹) seems to have footage for nearly every event: parents squabbling, fending off invading civets and several chicks that never make it to adulthood. Even those that successfully leave the nest face the challenge of establishing territory in habitats severely reduced and fragmented by human development. Many are later poisoned, caught in animal traps or hunted for their feathers, which hold cultural significance for Indigenous communities.
Having been making visually striking bird documentaries for more than three decades, Liang’s films are more than nature programs. The narratives are driven by the myriad pressures facing Taiwan’s birdlife, particularly the impact of human activity. Rather than focusing solely on spectacle, his work examines the possibilities of coexistence, often through the lens of individuals who devote their lives to protect these species.
Fly, Mountain Hawk-Eagle examines the complex overlap between wildlife conservation, economic development and preserving traditions that are themselves under threat from long histories of colonialism and modernization. The central conservationist featured is Sun Yuan-hsun (孫元勳), whose teams embark on grueling multi-day expeditions to install cameras and tag birds. The work is both physically demanding and hazardous, as crew members are shown being attacked by hornets and narrowly avoiding serious injury from a sudden talon swipe to the face.
Photo courtesy of Cai Chang International
The bird holds deep spiritual significance for the Indigenous Paiwan and Rukai communities, who associate it with the sacred hundred-pace viper due to the similarity in their triangular markings, particularly in the feathers of the subadults. Their use in headdresses follows complex social rules tied to hereditary status. According to the film, feathers were traditionally collected when naturally shed, which was seen as an auspicious sign. Over time, however, demand grew, giving rise to a lucrative trade that led to active hunting, with a single high quality feather fetching up to NT$60,000 on the black market.
Conservationists have tried to establish a feather repository modeled after the US, though concerns persist over access since not everyone can own a feather. The film also introduces Chung Chin-nan (鍾金男), an artisan who has been trying with mixed success to introduce high-quality imitation feathers to local villages.
Liang presents a range of perspectives on the substitute: some accept them, some argue that use should be strictly limited to cultural performances, while others worry that the wider access could further accelerate the erosion of traditional social structures.
“What if the mountain hawk-eagle is seen all over the skies, but Paiwan culture has disappeared?” one woman asks.
Nevertheless, some families have begun using the imitation feathers in weddings, and even ceremonies. Proponent and headwoman Ljuzem Djakudjakuc says that despite facing intense initial pushback, she persisted, recalling the words of her grandfather that status is defined by family lineage and community recognition rather than external objects.
Ultimately, the film avoids being overly preachy or framing Indigenous communities as antagonists to the birds at its center. With its limited scope, it offers a balanced glimpse of the ongoing negotiation, and the complexity of shifting cultural practices under modern conditions.
This discourse is central to Liang’s films. In the 2015 Fly, Kite Fly (老鷹想飛), he successfully drew public attention to the decline of black kites, many of which were poisoned after consuming prey that had ingested pesticide-treated crops. The film helped popularize a practical compromise, as some bean farmers shifted to non-toxic cultivation methods and marketed their produce under the “Eagle Red Bean” label.
Weaving these multiple storylines together with breathtaking aerial and mountain cinematography, Liang alternates between slow, observational stretches and narrative bursts, creating a well-paced rhythm. The result is an intimate, comprehensive view of this rarely-seen bird, as well as the humans involved in its survival.
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