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I’ve done a lot of hiking. Definitely more than most people. I grew up in the Rocky Mountains of British Columbia. I  worked as a tree planter in those same mountains for two years after graduating from University. I later lived in Utah for a couple of years and once climbed the tallest peak in eastern Asia in a single day.Of course, I’m not in the same shape that I was in my twenties, but I’m pretty experienced and, I like to think I’m pretty realistic about my abilities. Despite this, the difficulty of the Ak-Suu Traverse took me by surprise.The elevation combined with the near-constant steep inclines and declines during the trek had me struggling to maintain a moderate pace each day.

I wasn’t the only person having a tough time. My buddy Tim was also pushing himself.

In a situation where you’re operating at near the limit of your physical ability, mental preparation is essential. Nothing will drain your willpower like running into an unexpected challenge or learning your goal is much farther than you expected when you already feel exhausted.To avoid an unpleasant surprises, each night I asked our guide for specific information about the next day’s hike. How far? How much up? How much down?

Our guide, who knew the mountains from experience, but not by measurement, had a hard time answering those questions specifically. And that’s why I’m writing this post.

This post will tell you exactly what to expect on the Ak-Suu Traverse Trek, along with a little storytelling about my experience on what was undoubtedly the most epic trek I’ve ever done.

This post includes 3 parts: planning resources, an overview of the hike, and a day-by-day breakdown of the hike.

Overview

Our route was a slightly shorter variation on the standard Ak-Suu Traverse Trek, which would normally start in the village of Jyrgalan and end at the Jeti Oguz Resort and take one day longer than our trip.

Below is a summary of the trek in numbers.

Length: 6 days

Total Distance: 93.3 km (plus a 5 km side trip on day 2)

Lowest elevation: 2032 m

Highest elevation: 3925 m

Average elevation: 3122.1 m

Total elevation gain: 6520 m

Total descent: 6320 m

Avg daily distance: 15.5 km (not including the side trip)

Avg daily elevation gain: 1087 m

Avg daily descent: 1053 m

Ak-Suu Traverse Trek Map

Ak-Suu Traverse Elevation Profile

I think the above summary illustrates very well the nature of this hike: it’s a lot of really steep climbs and descents at high elevations broken up by short treks across valley bottoms. This is usually on jagged exposed rock or loose scree. So, make sure you have super-tough boots and are prepared for some knee abuse.

Photo by Stephen Lioy

Day-By-Day Breakdown

Day 1 – Aug 28

Route Summary
Started in the Boz-Uchuk valley and camped by the lowest Boz-Uchuk Lake at 3460 m.
Distance: 16.1 km
Total elevation gained: 1337 m
Total descent: 0 m

Notes
We hiked up a long slow inclined back road that gradually petered out into a trail. There were a few marshy areas. The hike was overall pretty manageable but got pretty tough toward the end. The last push was a steep rocky climb of a few hundred meters. I probably stopped to rest 4 or 5 times before I got to the top. We camped in front of the lake.

Day 2 – Aug 29

Route Summary
Set off from the Boz-Uchuk Valley crossing a 3524 m pass with view of Tashtanbek Tor Bashi. Then crossed the Jergez Valley climbed Ailanysh Pass, passing two lakes. We descended an unnamed valley, which connected with Ak-Suu Almaluu Valley. We hiked several km down the valley and camped beside the Ak-Suu Almaluu River.

Distance: 23.14 km
Total elevation gained: 750 m
Total descent: 1353 m

Notes
It was by far the longest and hardest day of the trek crossing two passes. It didn’t help that we started at 5 am to take a side trip to a nearby lake (not included in the route summary or map). At 8:30 am we started hiking north-northwest traversing a long steep rockslide with very large boulders to a pass. The descent into the next valley was extremely steep. After crossing the valley bottom we began ascending the other, equally steep, side and stopped to rest frequently. The top was a rocky gravely saddle between two peaks. It was a stunning view with a massive glacier just beyond the peak to our left.

The first part of the descent into the next valley was more gentle than the previous one. The second half of the hike down into the valley — which was probably about 500 vertical meters across several km — was full of rocks and bushes. We bushwacked diagonally down across the valley side through the rocks and the bushes. Walking sideways across the slope in that train was quite difficult and very hard on the feet.

We crossed a creek at the valley bottom and begin climbing up to the next pass, which was grassy and steep. At the top was a plateau with a lake beneath some peaks with two small glaciers. After the plateau, the climb was steep and rocky. It was 2 to 300 meters of very steep climbing to saddle, which looked out over an epic valley with majestic peaks in the distance.
The descent to the valley floor was mostly steep with some gentler sections, and the walk down the valley to the campsite was several km and took a couple of hours.

Day 3  – Aug 30

Route Summary
Climbed to Ortok Pass at 3616 m. Descended Anyrtor Valley to Ak-Suu Arashan (aka Altyn Arashan) hotsprings and guest house.

Distance: 13.76 km
Total elevation gained: 829 m
Total descent: 1100 m

Notes
This was one of the easier days. It started with a very steep climb but it was easier than past days. I was acclimatizing. The top of the pass had the best view so far. There was a very crazy narrow peak off to the left that was perfect for pictures so we took some. We then started a long descent. It was very steep the beginning and my knees were beginning to hurt. We arrived at the guest house around 4 or 5 p.m. for beer, dinner, hot springs, and to charge our devices.

Day 4 – Aug 31

Route Summary
Climbed south up the Ak-suu Arashan valley then turning into the much steeper Keldeke Valley and climbing to Ala-kol North Pass at 3906 m. Then traveled SW to Ala-kol Lake where we camped.

Distance: 14 km
Total elevation gained: 1417 m
Total descent: 357 m

Notes
We had to cross a wide fast river before starting up the valley. We climbed about 1000 m of pretty tough trail, which then flattened out. We stopped at a river in view of the pass. We then climbed a bit farther to the base of a very steep slope of scree, which was our last climb to the top of the saddle. There we had a long leisurely lunch. Finally we started the toughest climb of the trip up the steep and very unstable slope, which was about 200 meters high, taking us to 3800 meters.

The view at the top was insane. To the left were several craggy peaks. To the right of them was a massive glacier with a huge foot reaching down toward massive, emerald green Lake Ala-Kol. We descended across the slope on the variably-stable trail, which led to the lakeside campsite.

Day 5 – September 1st

Route Summary
Hiked around the lake and up a steep rocky slope to Panorama Pass at 3781 m before descending an unidentified valley to the Karakol Valley, which we crossed. On the far side we climbed to the Telety Valley to camp very high in the valley (around 3500 m).

Distance: 17.4 km
Total elevation gained: 1177 m
Total descent: 1220 m

Notes
We left camp and started around the lake to before heading up a steep shale climb. We took a break at the summit. We then begin a long steep descent. I began leaving the trail in search of soft shale to run down because I found it much easier on my knees and fun to run down the shale when it was soft enough for my feet to sink in. There was lots of soft shale and it made the descent much easier. We walked several kilometers along the valley bottom and then started up the other side. It was steep, but not crazy steep. It leveled out in a high valley. We walked up almost to the end where we made camp the side of a river under a glacier and towering peaks. It was the coldest night of camp. The sun set early and rose late because of the tall valley walls.

Day 6 – Sept 2

Route Summary
Started with a short climb from camp to Telety Pass at 3801 m and then a descent through Telety Valley to Jeti-Öguz Valley which we followed to the yurt camp at Kok-Jaiyk where the trek ended.

Distance: 18.2 km
Total elevation gained: 274 m
Total descent: 1545 m

Matt’s Notes
The slope was shallow at first and got gradually sleeper. It was higher than we expected it to be. We crested the highest saddle that we could see from camp to find we were still far below the pass. Just beneath the last pitch was a glacier and stream where we filled our water. Then we started up the last steep climb. The pass was around 3800 meters. The descent was steep with lots of shale. Again I looked for places to walk down the soft shale.

We began meeting groups hikers on their way up the trail. The shale trail gave way too steep meadow trail, which we followed to the valley bottom. From there it was an approximately 15 km hike down a pleasant, gradual downhill trail that eventually expanded into a road to the yurt camp where our ride was waiting.

Have you done the Ak-Suu or a similar trek? How was it?

The post An Excessively Detailed Guide To Kyrgyzstan’s Ak-Suu Traverse Trek appeared first on XpatMatt.

Waterfalls, caves, mountain peaks, and ancient forests. This probably doesn’t sound much like Los Angeles to those who have sat in traffic on the 5 Freeway, gone sightseeing among skyscrapers in the city center, or hang out in their luxury beachside Los Angeles vacation rental.

But to those who are in the know, hiking trails in Los Angeles are some of the Golden State’s most picturesque and this guide will help you locate the best of the best.

Trails in the Los Angeles National Forest

Photo credit: JefferyTurner

Take a 20-mile-long drive northeast of the heart of downtown Los Angeles, and you’ll find yourself among the rugged peaks and solitude of the San Gabriel and Sierra Pelona Mountains. Established in 1908, Angeles National Forest has remained one of the top places to escape the city smog and traffic for more than a century. These five hiking trails in Los Angeles National Forest are ones you don’t want to miss, but don’t be surprised if you stumble across others that become personal favorites too.

Sturtevant Falls Trail

Photo credit: USDAgov

Length: 3.1 miles (out and back)

Difficulty: Moderate

The Sturtevant Falls Trail, from Chantry Flats to Sturtevant Falls, is one of the more popular hiking trails in Los Angeles for its leisurely path through a lush portion of the San Gabriel Mountains. The pot of gold at the turn-around point is a refreshing 50-foot waterfall. Dogs are welcome on the Sturtevant Falls Trail but must be kept on leash.

Dawn Mine Trail Loop

Length: 5.1-mile loop

Difficulty: Hard

Hikers looking for a more strenuous but equally as scenic route will find the Dawn Mile Trail Loop as one of the top canyon hiking trails in the Los Angeles area. Located near Altadena, Calif., the trail sees moderate traffic and is open to furry friends. Caves, steep cliffs, several water crossings, lush greenery, and the fabled Dawn Mine make this a favorite among adventure junkies and nature enthusiasts living near or visiting the sprawling California metropolis known as LA.

Cooper Canyon Falls

Length: 3 miles (out and back)

Difficulty: Moderate

Another dog-friendly hiking trail in Los Angeles, Cooper Canyon Falls is a must-visit route if you’re seeking hiking trails near Los Angeles to waterfalls. The Cooper Canyon Falls waterfall flows year-round, but provides an even more impressive show when the snow melts in April and May. The trailhead begins at the back of the Buckhorn Campground in Angeles National Forest and descends into a mountain canyon where the Cooper Canyon Falls flow amongst an old-growth forest. Spend a night or two at the Buckhorn Campground for easy access to the falls and other Angeles National Forest trails.

Fish Canyon Narrows

Length: 8 miles (round trip)

Difficulty: Moderate

Fish Canyon Narrows is one of those hikes that will restore your love for Los Angeles just when you were about to be driven crazy by fellow motorists on your way there. Located on the far west end of the Angeles National Forest in the Sierra Pelona Mountains, this hike guides you past typical rugged and rocky SoCal terrain to a cool mountain stream that passes through towering red rock walls. Fish Canyon Narrows was named the No. 1 hike in the city by Los Angeles Magazine in 2009. Feel free to bring your furry friend, but don’t forget a leash.

Mount Baldy

Length: 13 miles (round trip)

Difficulty: Extremely Strenuous

Mount Baldy, formally known as Mount San Antonio, towers 10,064 feet over the City of Angels. While it’s not the tallest peak in the area (surpassed by San Gorgonio and San Jacinto Peak), Mount Baldy offers one of the most physically demanding hikes. The mountain’s 3,800-foot elevation rise in just 6 miles makes it a bucket-list climb for all advanced trekkers in the area. Overcome the common altitude sickness at the peak, and you’ll enjoy panoramic views stretching from Owens Valley to San Diego.

Santa Monica Mountains National Recreation Area

Photo credit: simonov

The Santa Monica Mountains National Recreation Area has been labeled, “hidden in plain sight,” and there’s no better way to describe it. This nearly 157,000 acre recreation area in the Santa Monica Mountains is home to many of the Los Angeles area’s favorite parks, including Griffith Park, Malibu Creek State Park, Topanga State Park, Point Mugu State Park, and several other scenic escapes. It’s the largest urban national park in the U.S., offering countless hiking trails, green spaces, mountain peaks, canyons, and beaches to the nearly 20 million residents who call the Greater Los Angeles Area home.

Temescal Canyon Loop

Length: 2.6 miles (loop)

Difficulty: Easy to Moderate

The hiking trail in Los Angeles to Temescal Canyon is ideal for hikers and trail runners seeking a short but exhilarating climb. The Pacific Ocean views, waterfalls, canyons, and close proximity to Santa Monica are reasons to conquer this loop too. The trail starts and ends at Temescal Gateway Park in the Pacific Palisades, but it travels through the adjacent Topanga State Park, so you won’t see the entire loop on the map at the information kiosk.

Follow the signs for the Temescal Ridge Trail until it reaches a junction with the Temescal Canyon Trail, which will lead you back to the starting parking lot. Or choose from a number of extensions, like the Bienveneda Trail, Skull Rock, or the Rivas Canyon Trail, to turn your short hike into a more gruelling one.

Parker Mesa via Los Liones Trail

Photo credit: maveric2003

Length: 7.3 miles (out and back)

Difficulty: Moderate

It’s not crazy to want to overlook the Pacific Ocean while exploring hiking trails in Los Angeles. The Los Liones Trail to the popular Parker Mesa overlook in Topanga State Park leads hikers through one of the lushest canyons in the Santa Monica Mountains to picture-perfect views of the Santa Monica Bay on one side and the San Bernardino Mountains on the other (on a clear day). While most people reach the esteemed Parker Mesa overlook from the western side of the park, this route from the south offers a more scenic and physically demanding approach.

Eagle Rock from Trippet Ranch

Length: 4.5 mile (loop)

Difficulty: Moderate

Eagle Rock is one of the most impressive rock formations in Topanga State Park, and the 4.5-mile loop from Trippet Ranch is the best way to reach the 1,957-foot summit. Combining the Musch Trail with the Eagle Springs Fire Road creates a moderate loop with an elevation gain of 800 feet. Panoramic views from the peak of Eagle Rock include the San Fernando Valley, Santa Monica Bay, and all of the tree-covered mountains dividing the two.

Brush Canyon Trail (Hollywood Sign)

Photo credit: dlofink

Length: 3 to 6.4 miles

Difficulty: Easy to Moderate

You haven’t truly hiked Los Angeles until you’ve taken the hiking trail to the Los Angeles sign. Several Griffith Park hiking trails will take you to the world-famous Hollywood Sign, including the Brush Canyon Trail (6.4 miles round trip), the Hollyridge Trail (3.5 miles round trip), and the Wonder View Trail (3 miles round trip). Each of the trails offers a sweaty journey through Griffith Park, but the longest and best day hike begins on the Brush Canyon Trail and links up with Mulholland Fire Road, then Mount Lee Road. You’ll ascend to the viewing area overlooking Los Angeles from behind the iconic white Hollywood sign.

The Wisdom Tree Hike

Length: 3 miles (out and back)

Difficulty: Moderate to Hard

Cross hiking to the Hollywood sign off your bucket list, and it’s time to conquer the Wisdom Tree Hike. Continue along Beachwood Canyon beyond the trailhead to the Hollywood sign, and you’ll make the long, steep ascent to the Wisdom Tree. Find the tree, snap a few photos, and read some wisdom from the notebooks tucked into the ammunition boxes. Or, jot down a piece of your own wisdom for future hikers to ponder.

Mugu Peak Trail

Length: 2.9 miles (loop)

Difficulty: Hard

The highly trafficked Mugu Peak Trail near Malibu seems like a simple 2.9-mile-long loop, but the 1,279-foot elevation increase bumps this trail from a moderate hike to a difficult one. Fortunately, the spring and summer wildflowers, low rolling mountains, and postcard-worthy ocean views make the ascent worth the agony (and subsequent soreness) every time.

Other City Parks and Green Spaces

Photo credit: maveric2003

Hidden amongst the skyscrapers and glass-windowed buildings are several green spaces that often go unnoticed. Many of these are home to hiking trails that offer your daily dose of exercise and the outdoors just seconds away from the city center.

Kenneth Hahn Community Loop Trail

Length: 2.8 miles (loop)

Difficulty: Easy

The Kenneth Hahn Community Loop Trail, located within the Kenneth Hahn Recreation Area, is an ideal place to take a breath of fresh air steps from some of L.A.’s favorite neighborhoods and attractions (think Culver City). The 2.8-mile-long loop trail leads along a well-marked route past wildflowers to a hill offering expansive views of the city and the San Gabriel Mountains. Dogs are welcome but must be leashed.

Ascot Hills Park Loop

Length: 2.4 miles (loop)

Difficulty: Moderate

Ascot Hills Park is a 93-acre park that offers several miles of hiking trails to walkers, hikers, and trail runners. The 2.4-mile-long loop, just one of a handful of the park’s routes, offers a comprehensive look at the park’s scenery as well as clear-day views of Catalina Island, the Hollywood Sign, the San Gabriel Mountains, downtown Los Angeles and more. The trail takes roughly one hour to complete and is ideal for furry friends on leashes too.

Ernest E. Debs Regional Park Loop Trail

Length: 5.2 miles

Difficulty: Moderate

Just 4.3 miles from the heart of downtown Los Angeles and a brief walk from the Gold Line stop is Ernest E. Debs Regional Park. Stunning views of LA and Pasadena, excellent birdwatching, and varying terrain make this 5.2-mile loop one of the best hiking trails in Los Angeles for walkers, hikers, and trail runners wanting to stay close to home.

Visitors and longtime residents can rest assured that Los Angeles isn’t always the concrete jungle we see when commuting on the freeway or watching the Channel 7 news. This guide to the best hiking trails in Los Angeles proves you don’t have to venture far to fall back in love with the outdoors.

The post A Guide to the Best Hiking Trails in Los Angeles appeared first on XpatMatt.

I lived in Taiwan for 8 years. It’s beautiful, small, oval-shaped island that is 394 km from the North to South and 144 km across. The East Coast has a wide flat plain where most of the population lives. Nearly all of the rest of the country is tall, steep, jungle-covered mountains that are filled with winding gorges that have been carved out by rivers. Along much of the scenic and sparsely populated East Coast the mountains plunge into the Pacific Ocean.

This isn’t the first time I’ve written about biking in Taiwan. Taroko Gorge is probably one of the most beautiful bike rides in the world.  This is what it looks like.

Every cyclist I know who has visited Taiwan loves it. So, I asked five of the most experienced cyclists I know why the loved road and mountain biking in Taiwan.

Daniel Carruthers

Why do you like cycling/mountain biking in Taiwan? 

Taiwan offers amazing cycling opportunities for the cyclist. Road cycling is the most popular with its endless network of roads you can explore and always be within distance of 7-Eleven for refueling or pitstop for emergency bikes. Many convenience stores have basic tool kits, pumps and tube repair kits available.

Taiwan has a stunning diversity of scenery, particularly in the Taipei mountain region and on the East coast where the famous Taiwan KOM event is staged every year, which includes 100kms of climbing to Wuling Peak. Going zero to 3,200m will send most cyclists giddy with the effort and the mind-blowing scenery on the way up.

What makes Taiwan different from other places you’ve biked? 

I have travelled all over Asia to ride my bike and Taiwan ranks probably number one, narrowly beating out Chiang Mai Thailand for the top spot.  Taiwan is just a super convenient place to ride your bike, dotted with numerous ornate temples and those narrow twisting car free roads that just make you want to keep exploring.

Where is your favourite place in Taiwan to ride and why? 

I have two favourite places to ride in Taiwan:

1) Taipei City – There is world class riding within minutes of the city. The city is surrounded by mountains and you’ll find your climbing ability rapidly improve after spending time here. Many of the climbs are no joke and ramp up 15-20%.

If you would like a challenging ride in Taipei, then the Balaka Climb on Danshui County Road 101 (over 1000m elevation gain) would be my pick. It finishes with a painful 3-4km 18% grade climb to the actual peak. Speed demons will enjoy a screaming fast descent back into Taipei City, during which you can reach 80km/h on a road bike. The most scenic rides would have to be Taipei to Yilan via Hwy 9 and Wulai to Fushan.

2) Kinmen Island – A tiny butterfly shaped island just off the coast of China. I’ve gone back there about half dozen times and never get sick of riding there. There are no mountains to climb, but the island offers a variety of roads and trails to ride on.

The island has an interesting history with an active Taiwan military base and is the only place in Asia where the traditional culture is still intact. It is pure joy to ride through old complete villages that survived the wars; the island is dotted with such villages. There is also a Portuguese influence in many of the magnificent mansions that are still intact.

A fit cyclist can ride the circumference of the island in one day.

Note: Kinmen has numerous free bicycle rental stations around the island for casual exploration.

Mark Roche

Why do you like cycling/mountain biking in Taiwan? 

Taiwan has something that appeals to all cyclists – excellent road conditions. Taiwan is relatively small, exactly half the size of Ireland with an area of 36,000 sq. kilometers, it’s easy to get to any part of the island in one day. An extensive rail system that circles the island with trains equipped to transport bikes and passengers alike.

Taiwan also has four-season riding. It gets hot in summer, so we can ride in the mountains to get away from the heat. Two thirds of the island is covered mountains and has the highest concentration of 3,000m peaks in the world, so you can combine tropical coastline riding with alpine riding in the same day.

What makes Taiwan different from other places you’ve biked? 

It’s easy to navigate and has bilingual road signs and a road numbering system on all major and most minor roads that indicates if you are travelling north, south, east or west.

Taiwanese drivers are very tolerant of cyclists. I have never experienced road rage in Taiwan towards cyclists. An ever increasing number of dedicated bike lanes segregated from other road users. You can camp anywhere, Taiwanese are starting to discover the outdoors, so the number of campgrounds is growing, but wild camping is also possible in most areas. There’s also no shortage of accommodation options for all price ranges.

Where is your favourite place in Taiwan to ride and why? 

Coast to coast is one of my favorites, from Taichung to Hualien on the Central Cross-island Highway. This ride is 230km long and takes you over the island’s highest mountain pass at Wu Ling (3,275m), which is one of the highest mountain passes in the world that is accessible to cyclists.

I also like to ride end to end on the East Coast, AKA the Two Towers ride. This 600km ride along the coast on the Pacific Ocean takes you through aboriginal villages, fishing harbors, and some of the most scenic coast line on the planet.

Chris Scott

Why do you like cycling/mountain biking in Taiwan? 

I think the best part about riding in Taiwan is the same everywhere I’ve ridden. It’s the camaraderie and friendships you forge on the trail, which seem to transcend cultural and language barriers.

What makes Taiwan different from other places you’ve biked? 

When I first started riding in Taiwan in late 2001, there was almost no mountain biking culture there at all. It was just a few diehard foreigners bombing down trails that were used by hikers. Fast forward less than a decade and riding had become really popular with the locals. One of the last races l entered in Taichung had over 200 riders, and only a handful of them were foreigners. That’s what made riding in Taiwan so interesting, the lighting pace at which the culture evolved.

Where is your favourite place in Taiwan to ride and why? My favorite place to ride was definitely the experimental forest in Shinhua, a half hour to the east of Tainan. A South African friend and I used to go there every Sunday afternoon and ride until it began to get dark, then we’d load our rigs onto the back of our motorbikes and head home into a spectacular tropical sunset, with that euphoric feeling of near total exhaustion capping off what was always a great weekend.

Simon Foster

Why do you like cycling/mountain biking in Taiwan? 

The island of Taiwan is less than 400km from north to south and only 150km across at its widest point, y this tiny tropical gem contains East Asia’s highest mountains, the world’s deepest marble gorge, over 150 hot springs, and mile after mile of untouched beaches, meaning that hard days in the saddle are often rewarded by an ocean swim or a therapeutic thermal soak, not to mention incredibly diverse and delicious cuisine to keep you fuelled for the road.

What makes Taiwan different from other places you’ve biked? 

Remote roads through spectacular scenery are an amazing part of riding through many countries, but in Taiwan, unused county roads are kept in pristine condition, seemingly exclusively for the use of two-wheeled adventurers. Add to this extensive investment in cycling infrastructure, including bike paths, bike service stations at convenience stores and rural police stations, and some of the friendliest people on the planet and the result is one of the world’s best, and most under-rated biking destinations.

Where is your favourite place in Taiwan to ride and why? 

County road 64, aka the “Ruigang Road” starts in Ruisui hot springs in the lush East Rift Valley and cuts its way through the low, jungly Coastal Mountain Range. This lovely little road follows the course of Taiwan’s premier whitewater rafting river, the Xiuguluan, to emerge at the Pacific by the impressive bridge at Dagangkou. This is one of our favourite roads on an island packed with perfect roads, and it features on our Bike Taiwan and Eastern Escape itineraries.

Joshua Samuel Brown

Why do you like cycling/mountain biking in Taiwan? 

It’s like the phrase from Vulcan philosophy, “Infinite diversity in infinite combinations”.

Taiwan’s got mountains, hills, plains, ocean roads, small towns and big cities, and they’re all connected by amazing and (mostly) cycle friendly roads. So cycling in Taiwan never gets boring. I’ve not done nearly enough mountain biking there, but I intend to do more when I return in 2017.

What makes Taiwan different from other places you’ve biked? 

People in Taiwan are generally friendlier towards cyclists then they are in most of America. The Taiwan government has really gone out of it’s way to promote cycling as both sport and lifestyle, and this has resulted in an increased awareness of cyclists as a part of the island’s cultural tapestry.

Where is your favourite place in Taiwan to ride and why? 

Depends on my mood. I really like everything in the Rift Valley stretching up between Yuli and Hualien City. Route 9 is a perfectly lovely and serviceable cycling road, but you can also turn off and find smaller roads going through rice paddies where you’ll not see a car for miles. I love the town of Ruisui for both the hotsprings and this one particular Hakka restaurant I know there.

Of course, I like city riding. I cut my cycling teeth as a bike messenger in NYC, so I need the rush of riding in traffic. One of my regular Taipei city rides cuts the city South to North, from Xindian to Tienmu on Roosevelt / ChungShan roads. Preferably in rush hour traffic. Not everybody’s cup of tea though.

Have you been cycling in Taiwan? Share your experience in the comments below.

The post 5 Cyclists Explain Why They Love Biking In Taiwan appeared first on XpatMatt.

Photo: Iceland Tourism

Iceland is a bold country for bold people. It’s for travelers who want to dive directly into nature, party until the sun comes up (even when it never goes down), and dine on some of the sea’s most freaky creatures.

The Land of Fire and Ice is a place that continues to wow its visitors whether it’s their first visit or their fiftieth. However, these six insane things to do in Iceland are ones that most visitors, even the most seasoned Iceland travelers, have never done.

Surf Among Icebergs

Photo: dalli58 / Flickr

There are few places in the world where you can surf among icebergs, and only one where the waves are considered world-class. Iceland, which is home to just a handful of surfers, offers many of the perks most of the world’s surfers dream about — peeling point breaks and minimal crowds. Ten surfers in the water is considered a packed lineup. Even better, there’s no need for dawn patrol, because the sun never sets during the midsummer surf season.

The increasing popularity of surfing in Iceland and around the world has brought rise to coastal surfer-friendly resorts and companies offering guided surf adventures. Summer sea temperatures around 12-degree Celsius and improved wetsuit technologies make jumping into the chilly (but not frigid) waters much less of a concern.

Snowboard in the Winter Darkness

Photo: Iceland Tourism

Icelandic winters are synonymous with darkness, but that’s what makes snowboarding in the Nordic island nation so special. Mount Hlíðarfjall has been one of Iceland’s top ski and snowboard resorts for more than 40 years. Powdery snow and a location 5 kilometres outside of the town of Akureyri makes it a favorite among Icelandic locals and tourists. Floodlighting on the main trails means skiing in the pitch black evenings of winter is possible.

Although, you don’t have to leave the Reykjavik area to ride at one of the country’s top resorts. The Blafjoll Ski Resort is famous for its family-friendly atmosphere, off-piste trails for advanced riders, and glowing lights that keep the trails open in the darkest months. Even more adventurous snowboarders can venture into deep fjords and towering mountains with Arctic Surfers, a mountain guide company taking adrenaline junkies on Surf & Snow trips into the country’s most rugged terrain.

Cruise an Icelandic River at High Speeds

Photo: Iceland Riverjet

You don’t have to be an action sports enthusiast to get your thrills in the Land of Fire and Ice. Iceland Riverjet is Europe’s only whitewater jet boat company. Grip the handlebars with white knuckles as your professional jet boat driver flies through the whitewater rapids of the Hvita River while doing 360-degree spins, jumping waves, and squeezing through some of the country’s most scenic canyons. There’s only one whitewater jet boat company on the continent, and the high-speed thrills are a once-in-a-lifetime adventure.

Snorkel Between Two Continents

Photo: Anosmia

Iceland’s temperatures aren’t as frigid as many travelers assume, averaging between 10- and 13-degrees Celsius in July and reaching 20- to 25-degrees Celsius on warmer days. While you probably won’t feel like diving into the sea the moment you set foot on Icelandic ground, you may change your mind when you hear about snorkeling in the Silfra rift.

The Silfra rift is part of the Thingvellir National Park UNESCO World Heritage Centre. It’s the only place in the world where travelers can dive or snorkel between two continental plates. The lesser-known natural wonder offers 100 metres of visibility, bright blue waters, and a rainbow of colors that make snorkeling the chilly glacial waters, from nearby Langjökull, unlike anywhere else in the world.

Stay Up All Night in Reykjavik

Photo: Dan Nguyen / Flickr

The nightlife never really stops in Reykjavik, and it can be difficult to know when night actually falls during summer evenings full of sunlight and winter days of darkness. Icelanders are known for heading to their favorite bars and pubs after midnight and staying until at least 5 a.m., on weekends. Many cafes morph into bars in the evening hours, then into clubs in the wee hours of the night. It’s essential to spend one night drinking Icelandic craft beer and local schnapps at the famous Kaffibarinn bar or the low-key artist hangout, Ölstofa Kormáks og Skjaldar.

See the Northern Lights from the Top of a Glacier

Photo: Iceland Tourism

Iceland isn’t the only place in the world to admire the northern lights, but it’s the only place where you can watch nature’s greatest light show from atop the fastly-fading Sólheimajökull glacier. This south Iceland glacier is accessible to all levels of hikers and serves as an ideal viewing point for the greens, purples, and blues of the northern lights.

Guide to Iceland offers a number of glacier tours in Iceland, including a jaw-dropping adventure to the Sólheimajökull glacier tongue, the Seljalandsfoss waterfall, and an unbeatable viewing point for the aurora borealis. Iceland’s wild and sparsely populated landscape coupled with the pitch darkness of winter makes it one of the best places on earth to see the dancing northern lights.

The post 6 Insane Things You Can Only Do in Iceland appeared first on XpatMatt.

I met Rita in Batad, one of the small villages perched among the 2000-year-old rice terraces of the jagged Cordillera mountain range on the island of Luzon in the Philippines.

No roads reach the mountain village. To get to Batad my friends and I hired a jeepney in Banue and rode an hour along a windy dirt road to the trailhead where we disembarked. We hiked an hour down the steep rocky trail into the village.

Most of the villages in this part of the Philippine Cordillera can only be reached on foot. 

It’s well worth the effort.

I’m enamored by this place.

The rice terraces are a tribute to human engineering and endurance. Sometimes called “The Eighth Wonder of the World,” the enormous steps were carved by hand from jagged mountainside using stone tools over two millennia ago. It’s said that if they were laid end-to-end, the steps would circle the globe.

To give you an idea of their size, here’s a photo of my friends hiking across them.

The Ifugao people still farm the terraces the same way they were farmed when they were first built and flood them using the same system of stone aqueducts their ancestors carved out of the mountainside.

During the harvest the community takes to the fields and collectively chants the Epic HudHud of the Ifugao, an epic story with 40 episodes that takes three to four full days to complete. I love the thought of the HudHud filling the valley as the community works and chants in unison day after day.

Here’s a sample of the chant that was uploaded to YouTube by the U.S. Embassy in Manila.

The Ifugao culture — like many around the world — is slowly being eroded as television and the Internet reach the youth with images of a vast and exciting world to explore outside the village. Many of the young people move to the city searching for jobs, money, technology, and excitement.  So, in Batad, the number of farmers in the terraces is slowly declining and the HudHud chant is growing dimmer each year.

We spent the day hiking the hills around the village and visiting a waterfall. Afterward I sat at a restaurant overlooking the terraces while my friends took a stroll through the village. That was when Rita introduced herself.

After chatting for a few minutes I asked Rita how old she was.

Rita had been born in Batad. She didn’t know when she was born because at the time her tribe didn’t keep track of such things. We both figured she was probably in her mid-sixties.

If Rita was 65 she would have been born around the time that Filipino guerillas and the United States army were finishing a brutal campaign expel the Imperial Japanese Army from the Philippines.

World War II was nearly over. The Imperial Japanese Army had decided to make the Philippines its last stand in the Pacific, so they had nothing to lose. This made the Japanese military — which wasn’t known for it’s appreciation for human rights on the best of days — extremely dangerous.

The Manila Massacre, in which over one hundred thousand Filipino civilians were slaughtered by the Japanese, had occurred almost exactly 65 years before, and 165 miles south of, my chat with Rita on the balcony of her restaurant overlooking the Batad Rice Terraces.

This was the view.

The end of the World War II marked the beginning of a tulmutuous period for Asia — a period of widespread, incredibly fast development.

I asked Rita how her village had changed during her life

She told me how the steadily increasing communications reaching the Ifugao from the larger Phillipine society (and world) was distracting people from their history and traditions.

As passionate as I am about history and tradition — and as much as I hate to see a rich culture slowly dissolve into our globally-connected world —  I find little mystery in their disappearance.

Many people get up in arms about this.

Some blame the youth for being fickle and thankless. Some blame the adults for not teaching the youth proper reverence for their heritage.

I used to feel that way too, but recently my mind has changed.

All societies seek change.

Well, to be specific they seek progress, but it doesn’t always work out that way.

Our society operates largely on the idea that we should be constantly working to build a better world and should be prepared to discard any of our own traditions that impede our progress.

By it’s nature, progress destroys tradition.

I’m not saying I think we’ve done a particularly good job of building a better world, or that abandoning traditions is either wise or desirable.

I’m just saying that we tend to romanticize the traditions of others as unique and worthy of protection and while we rush to replace our own with newer and ‘better’ ones.

Our society idolizes the those who are most adept at slaying old paradigms and erecting new ones: Ludwig Van Beethoven, Johan Gutenberg, Elvis Presley, Nicola Tesla, Pablo Picasso, Albert Einstein, Rosa Parks, Elon Musk.

Nearly all societies strive to change. It’s the same reason that 2000 years ago the Ifugao farmers decided to pick up their stone axes and start carving these terraces out of the mountainside.

It’s what people have always done.

So why does it twist my stomach every time I encounter the a dying society?

After speaking for some time, Rita disappeared into her house and returned with folder containing a tattered old anthropology article. It explained that Rita was the last living practitioner of the traditional Ifugao weaving process. The document included photos of Rita harvesting vines from the jungle, stripping the fibres, spinning them into thread, and then weaving them into cloth on a simple handmade loom.

I asked her if she had taught anyone else her weaving method since the article had been written.

She told me that she had taught a man close to her age who lived in the next village over and laughed heartily as she explained how terrible he was at it, relishing her own singular mastery of the craft.

She was the last person in the world that could stroll into the jungle of the Cordillera mountains to collect vines and single-handedly transform them into an Ifugao alampay.

I asked her if she still made clothes.

She did not. She had given up weaving because of arthritis.

My friends returned from their walk. Rita and I said goodbye and I took a photo of her before we began climbing the steep path toward the potholed dirt road where we’d wait to flag down the next passing bus.

As we climbed the trail between the rows of thatched huts I noticed the laundry lines between them were adorned with jeans and basketball jerseys. A short time later we passed a group of teenagers huddled excitedly around an old cellphone.

Their eyes were all focussed on the tiny green-and-black flip screen and I was filled with an unsettling certainty that I had just witnessed some kind of vague injustice that had no definable perpetrator and of which no one seemed to feel they were a victim.

A version of this article originally appeared on The Liberty Project and has been republished here with permission.

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By close, I mean ‘Canada close’ — a six-hour drive.

By the time I moved away at 20, I’d visited our best-known mountain tourist destination, Banff, more times than I could count. It was really close — only a four hour drive away. Although I’d spent lots of time in and around Banff, I had never made it out the the town’s more remote sister, Jasper to see the famous parkway, Columbia Icefields, and other attractions.

To me, mountains were mountains, and I’d spent nearly every day of my life until the age of 20 living in them. Eventually I moved away to Asia and then started traveling without having spent any substantial time in Jasper (I’d driven through once). Having spent most of my life in the Rockies, I figured I couldn’t be missing out on much.

How different would Jasper’s mountains be?

Very different, as it turned out. But I wouldn’t find out until more than a decade later.

In spring of 2015 I was invited to take part in a blogging campaign put together by Jasper Canadian Rockies.

I’d finally get to know Jasper. It was a visit that was long overdue.

The first two hints came from two of the slogans created as part of the park’s re-branding, which was meant to appeal more to the the type of serious outdoorsperson who appreciates it.

The first was, “Jasper: Adventurers Only.”

The second (and my favorite), “Forget the hairspray, bring the bear spray.”

I began my four day trip driving a rental car from Cranbrook B.C., through Kootenay National Park and Banff National Park, then along the Icefields Parkway into Jasper National Park.

The drive was as epically beautiful as it sounds.

I stopped a few times along the way for photos, but for much of the trip it was too foggy and snowy to take any good photos. Luckily, it cleared up before I arrived at the famous Columbia Icefields. They were as spectacular as I’d been told.

The lead photo of this post was taken there, as was this one.

As I moved north, the Rockies changed. The mountains were different from the towering spines of stone I’d grown up around. These mountains were smoother, like enormous stone waves carved out by creeping glaciers over millennia of erosion.

The majestic and elegant waves of stone and reminded me of photos of I’d seen of rural Iceland and scenes from north of the wall in Game of Thrones.

It was hard to believe they belonged to the same range I’d grown up in. Our mountains at home were steep and jagged. These were broader, fluid, and expansive.

I was surprised, impressed, and humbled.

The Maligne Canyon Ice Walk

I’d never heard of the Maligne Canyon Ice Walk before my visit to Jasper. I was disappointed when I saw it was on my itinerary.

When I was planning the trip with the people from Jasper Tourism we talked about a lot of different activities like ice climbing, fat biking, backcountry skiing, dogsledding, and dark sky stargazing and photography. I love crazy outdoors challenges, so those all activities sounded great to me. The ice walk, on the other hand, sounded like a stroll through the woods

But that’s what I was assigned.

 The ice walk was so much more than I expected. By the end of it I was glad that the tourism board had chosen it for me over the other activities.

The ice walk is no ordinary hike. The trail ascends Maligne Canyon, one of Jasper’s most unique geographic features.The canyon follows the meeting of two tectonic plates in the Earth’s crust and extends for miles. The canyon tall and narrow. The walls are nearly vertical and rise up to 150 feet while following the strangely geometric curves of the river.

Below the canyon is an gargantuan maze of subterranean caves into which much of the river’s water drains. In the summer when water levels are high, the canyon contains a fast and powerful river, but in the winter when the flow of water slows and much of it drains into the subterranean caverns leaving a path of ice with a shallow river running beneath it, allowing visitors to hike along the bottom of the canyon. The result is an otherworldly experience.

The river is fed by networks of caves and streams from both sides of the canyon, which freeze in the winter creating massive walls of ice in patterns that one could never imagine without seeing them.

I was no great surprise when our guide informed us that the hike had been designated one of the best in Canada by both National Geographic and the Canadian Government.

Most of the other participants on the hike arrived with the same expectations I did. They expected a mildly interesting, but mostly boring hike. But we were all amazed the experience.

It also helped that our tour was guided by Jasper John. John was a former forestry worker from the area, as well as a photographer, curator of the local library’s photo archive, and a brilliantly colorful character.

John obviously wasn’t working as a tour guide for the money. He knew the geography of the area with with encyclopedic proficiency. He’d learned the wildlife from the days he spent in the wilderness and the geography from decades working in forestry.

As we walked up the canyon John boisterously bellowed old folk songs that brought grins to the faces of all the hikers who’d been expecting a ho-hum stroll in the woods. John explained in great detail how the canyon and subterranean cave system had been formed over several millennia through the slow movement of massive glaciers and infused the troop with his enthusiasm for the subject.

John showed us where movies had been filmed, where Marilyn Monroe had worked on a movie, where aboriginals held sacred ceremonies, and where innocuous fissures in the ice led to underground caves. He even took photos of the brave (and very unclaustrophobic people) willing to climb into the tiny caverns, like the guy below.

That cave was a tunnel about two feet tall and three feet wide, and he wriggled in one end (on the right) and out the other, where I took this photo.

I couldn’t believe he did it. There was no way I was going into that thing.

Near the end of the walk was a series of enormous waterfalls that several groups of ice climbers were climbing. Below the last, and biggest waterfall, was a huge cave. The picture below is a climber on belay taken from inside the cave.

My First Day of Splitboarding

I started skiing when I was three years old, and snowboarding when I was twelve. Snowsports are one in integral part of my life. But on the day I arrived in Jasper, in my thirty three years riding mountains, I had never ventured into the backcountry. That changed on March 8, 2015, when Steve from Rockaboo Mountain Adventures took me out to Hilda Ridge.

It was long overdue.

It was a bluebird day. The snow was good, but the scenery was over the top.

We hiked up Edith Ridge for several hours beneath a majestic peak. About 3 hours of hiking was rewarded with a run that lasted about 40 minutes, including a few breaks. Then we started climbing again.

I wasn’t sure I could do it. My legs quivered with each step.

After another shorter run, we headed back toward the road. The conditions were good, but not amazing. Each run, however, felt precious. They say that you enjoy riding more when you’ve earned your turns.

It’s true. If I’d ridden a lift to ride the variable windcrust and powder slopes, I would have judged the day mediocre. But because I climbed the mountain for those runs, I savoured every turn.

Around Jasper

My last day in Jasper was a busy one. I began the day snowboarding at Marmot Basin, which unlike most resorts this year that fell victim to a snow drought, had been graced with a higher than average snowfall. It was a bluebird day, the snow coverage was solid, and the lift lines were nonexistent.

Since it was my last day in Jasper, I didn’t want to spend the whole day on the hill. I’d heard of a few other epic sounding spots that I wanted to photograph before I left.

First, I visited Patricia Lake and Pyramid Lake. The pair are only a few minutes drive from downtown Jasper and are a brilliant sight, with the strangely symmetrical Pyramid Mountain seeming to rise out of them.

After that, I had just one last night at my hotel, the Jasper Park Lodge, and then would have to drive home. I wasn’t exactly stoked to be leaving Jasper, but the last night and drive out could have been worse.

Above is the view from the outdoor heated pool at the Jasper Park Lodge

In the morning I hit the road, but also made a few stops along the way to photograph some of the better-known features of the park along the road.

I hadn’t expected much, but these turned out to be some of the most stunning spots — and best photographs — of the trip.

The highlight of the drive out, and the trip, actually, was the obscenely massive ice cave in the Columbia Icefields that I missed when I stopped there on the way in. It was about a 1km walk from the parking lot to get to it, but it was more than worth the effort.

It was like something from another, bigger, more grandiose world.

That’s kind of what Jasper is like, another more grandiose world.

The post Jasper: Adventurers Only appeared first on XpatMatt.

Images and text by Mark Whitman

Climbing Kilimanjaro is definitely an adventure, but I’ve never personally looked at it that way.

Thousands flock to Tanzania every year with the sole purpose of attempting to reach what many colloquially call the Roof of Africa. Standing at 19,341 feet (5,895 meters), Mount Kilimanjaro is the highest mountain on the African continent and the tallest non-massif (free-standing) mountain in the world.

The mountain’s popularity among hikers can be attributed to its Seven Summit status and the fact that it’s a non-technical climb. This means that anyone at (nearly) any age can climb Kilimanjaro. Fitness and physical ability are also more flexible than on many other climbs. Canadian couple Esther and Martin Kafer reached the summit at the ripe old ages of 84 and 85, while armless and legless Kyle Maynard crawled to the top of Kilimanjaro unassisted in 2012.

Compared to these extraordinary feats, I’ve never felt that my young, able-bodied experiences on Kilimanjaro were very adventurous.

It then dawned on me, recently, that I had indeed been part of a Kilimanjaro experience similar to those described above.

My first experience on Kilimanjaro was with a childhood mate who had suffered from partial sightedness for most of his life.

When I first met Brad, we were both normal seven year old kids. I took to his adventurous playground antics and we quickly became friends. The first two years of our friendship were like those of any two boys.

Then one day Brad started complaining about his eyesight. He struggled to keep up with us in sports and couldn’t see the whiteboard in class. He soon moved to a new ‘special’ school. Brad had a condition called macular degeneration. His central vision had deteriorated to 10% of a normal person’s eyesight and his peripheral vision was impaired.

He was effectively blind.

His condition never broke his spirit, though, and despite his awful eyesight he continued to play squash, golf, and snooker (and excelled in the latter).

Over the years we went on a number of sailing and climbing adventures.

Brad went pushed himself extra hard to succeed at activities that people with perfect eyesight would struggle to excel in and, over time, this made me forget just how limited his sight was. His determination to be active and ‘normal’ made me discount his disability and assume he could do anything that he wanted to.

So, when Brad told me he wanted to climb Kilimanjaro I was game.

At the time I was living in London and he in South Africa, so we met in Nairobi and flew together to Kilimanjaro International Airport.

In Moshi we got our first glimpse of the awe-inspiring Mount Kilimanjaro. Seeing any great mountain for the first time and realizing that you plan to drag yourself to the top of it is a frightening and seductive feeling.

We began our trek the following day following the popular Mâchame route that sojourns through dense tropical rainforest. The paths on Kilimanjaro are surprisingly good and make for relatively easy going hiking.

The biggest challenge is the altitude. The human body is not meant to function at extreme altitudes and responds to the unfriendly environment in various ways, starting with mild headaches that can turn into severe migraines and nausea.

As you climb in altitude the air pressure drops lowering the air density and reducing the number of oxygen molecules available per breath. At around 12,000 feet (3,600 meters) there are approximately 40% fewer oxygen molecules per breath than at sea level. The human body is able to acclimatize to this change, but it does so slowly.

Unfortunately, Kili doesn’t give the average trekker much time to acclimatize. So, the onset of mild or moderate Acute Mountain Sickness (AMS) is common and summit success rates are relatively low on certain routes. Death from severe AMS and its Edema complications also occur on Kilimanjaro.

Like most sane trekkers, Brad and I had valued our lives more than making it to the summit, but we were prepared ourselves to endure mild headaches and even vomiting (fortunately the latter never happened).

I was the first to come down with AMS symptoms on day four. Brad, despite his eyesight, had been having an easy time on the climb.

We reached the summit base camp, Barafu (which means ice in Swahili). As the name implies, it is not warm on the exposed plateau, which sits at 4,600 meters. Nausea had overcome me and I stopped eating. Brad smugly ate my dinner while all I could do was watch and try not to vomit.
That evening we prepared for the final push. We would be woken at 23:45 to begin our summit assault on the slopes of Kibo. A gale force wind blew all night long, making sleep impossible. We thought that that surely no one in their right mind would try summit in this wind.

We were wrong. Wind or no wind, we were pushing on. The good news was that I was feeling a lot better. Apparently starvation and sleep deprivation help to alleviate altitude sickness (though I wouldn’t recommend trying it).

Brad had taken a turn for the worse. Half way up Kibo started complaining that his heart was beating rapidly. Like a good manly friend, I ignored his complaints and continued to kick his ass up the winding slope, majestically flattened at a crater rim to reveal the sub-summit milestone, Stellar Point.

Many people stop here, exhausted and and defeated when they realise that they have to complete another hour’s trek around the crater to Uhuru Peak and the summit of Kilimanjaro.

Brad nearly joined the ranks of those who pack it in at Stellar, but after a cup of hot chocolate his spirits brightened and, as the morning sun rose out of the African landscape, we continued on toward the summit.

After 5 days of trekking, headaches, long drops. and baby-wipe baths, the feeling of reaching the summit is sublime however short lived. A few congratulatory high fives and customary photos are standard; however, the knowledge of richer air waiting below makes departure from the summit even sweeter.

Mount Kilimanjaro is a dormant volcano. The main peak, Uhuru, is adorned with large receding glaciers that have left the slopes covered with fine volcanic glacial scree. Descent on the upper regions can effectively be done by sliding snowboard-style down the scree to base camp where the landscapes becomes rocky again.

The problem with fine glacial scree — as I learned in the worst possible way — is that it becomes easily lodged in one’s eye. By the time I reached Barafu my right eye was partially closed and left eye was completely shut.

I fell asleep exhausted and partially blind. How the tables had turned!

The following morning Brad, with 10% vision, helped me down the final stretches of Mount Kilimanjaro and for the first time in 20 years of knowing him I got a small glimpse of the challenges he faces living with limited eye site.

To climb Kilimanjaro is a great feat, but it was only on our final day as we left the trailhead for of Kilimanjaro l gained a deep respect the extraordinary determination and spirit that my friend had to develop to overcome his limited vision and a life that I, with normal vision, take for granted.

Have any questions about climbing Kilimanjaro? Just comment comment below and Mark will  be happy answer them.

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The Angel’s Landing Trail

The hike to Angel’s Landing (formerly known as the Temple of Aeolus) is well-known as being one of the most spectacular hikes in Zion National Park in Utah, which places it among the most beautiful hikes in the world. However, it’s also one of the most dangerous.

The trail to Angel’s Landing is only 3.9 kilometres (2.4 miles), but it rises nearly 500 meters (1500 feet), making it steep and challenging. The dangerous part comes near the end when fatigued hikers must cross a narrow spine of rock and across exposed ledges to the landing. The view from the landing, though, is definitely worth it. Then, hikers have to return the way they came.

It’s one of the most beautiful hikes I’ve ever done (it about ties with Fisher’s Peak).

The hike takes most people around 3 – 6 hours round trip.

Our Hike to Angel’s Landing

My girlfriend Emilie and I visited Zion with our friend Danielle from Canada who had grabbed a cheap flight to the USA.

Personal vehicles are prohibited in most of Zion National Park, so we took the shuttle bus from the campsite to the sixth bus stop, the Grotto Trailhead, where we zipped into the Zion Lodge to grab a quick cup of coffee to jump start our hike.

Almost immediately we crossed the Virgin River, which had turned the colour of chocolate milk because rain further up the canyon had washed large amounts of Zion’s famous orange dirt into the river.

The Climb to Scout’s Landing

The West Rim Trail slowly climbed across a low-lying plain toward the canyon walls. After about thirty or forty minutes of walking the trail turned into switchbacks that climbed steeply toward Refrigerator Canyon. Huffing and puffing, we took several short breaks during the climb.

In the canyon we came to Walter’s Wiggles, a set of narrow switchbacks carved into an incredibly steep face of rock and held in place by retaining walls. As we rested at one of the switchbacks we heard a loud rumble.

It was falling rocks.

We couldn’t see the rocks, but the rumble was as loud as if they were on top of us because the narrow canyon contained the sound. Danielle was very scared. She’d been convinced they were falling right on us.

We waited a moment to calm our nerves before we continued.

When we got to the top of Walter’s Wiggles we were all winded, so we stopped for a minute to rest. There were several groups of people standing around just up ahead of us. We had arrived at Scout’s Landing.

The First HIker Bites the Dust

“I’m going to wait here.” Said Danielle. Danielle isn’t a fan of heights at the best of times. After being startled by the rock fall, she definitely wasn’t interested in navigating the narrow precipitous trail to Angel’s Landing.

Danielle wasn’t the only person who felt that way. Scout’s Landing was filled with people waiting for friends who had continued on.

Emilie and I left Danielle and continued down the trail. We crossed section of narrow exposed trail hundreds of feet high. The only security was a chain bolted into the cliffside to hold.

At the other side we came to a large plateau. The view was incredible, so we stopped to take a photo. It was the photo at the beginning of this post.

And Then There Was One

Then Emilie looked at the rest of the trail to Angel’s Landing and informed that she would not be joining me. I could see why.

This is what the trail looked like.

I went on alone. I didn’t blame Emilie for turning back. The trail looked had very precarious. The truth was, though, that the most exposed section of trail was the one that we had already crossed to get to the plateau. Although the trail looked sketchy from a distance, there was only one more short section that was exposed.

Finally, I arrived at Angel’s Landing. It was a long tongue of bare rock. About halfway across it was a wind-gnarled tree. And at the end, was this view.

Check out my photoessay of Angel’s Landing

The post Hiking to Angel’s Landing appeared first on XpatMatt.

Guest post by Sloan Dorr

Patrick and I had picked up a fellow wanderluster at the Canadian boarder. Ha had translucent skin and was tall and skinnier than my pinky finger with long shaggy hair and a malt liquor habit. He’d ride a skateboard everywhere if he could, carries a pen and paper for his art, and is always waiting for a bone to heal, a cut to scab, or a bruise to lose its color. One of those guys that wears a wool hat in the summertime because he’s cold, not because he’s a hipster. His hands are always stained with ink because he can’t stop drawing charicatures. They’re crude, but really good.

We lent him a down jacket, fed him and learned that he had never explored the coast — never played in the Red Woods or viewed the mountains from another mountain. This was the trip where my Gypsy Family was born. I had recently quit my jobbecause it made me unhappy, tired, and fat. I flew west from Baltimore with no plans other than to wander sunny California and explore the redwoods of Oregon with my friend Patrick.

“Sloan. Sloan.” Patrick’s voice was serious but excited. We were thinking the same thing. He has to come. Ethan is coming to Yosemite; the Gypsy family is staying together and we’re backpacking Yosemite.

It was something we had been planning on doing with Patrick’s friends from San Diego. Ethan hadn’t been considered for the trip, but why not? Why not bring a kid that runs out of breath walking from the truck to the grocery store? His summer plans consisted of having no plans. He was wandering between friends houses and his mother’s boyfriend’s house—he didn’t feel welcome anywhere. None of us really did. We wanted to let him explore what we knew was out there, show him what it’s like to spend a few days with out his skateboard and cell phone and leave behind accusation. The trees wouldn’t judge him.

With out telling Ethan we silently planned on him coming. We made room for him in the truck and borrowed gear for his wandering, broke ass. We were traveling with Patrick the sales man, so we had to follow his backwards travel schedule. We headed up to Mount Hood for him to work and to do a pre-Yosemite trial run. We had a group of seven. Jumping over snow and wading through rivers to a waterfall left my Gypsy Brother exhausted. When he discovered we had hiked 4 miles in, he realized we had to hike 4 miles out.

The nervousness on his face showed through his thin lips. He didn’t crack another smile for hours. He pulled his hat down low over his eyes and rolled his shirt sleeves up. His thin arms swam in the sleeves of the black Volcom t-shirt. Head down, arms pumping, Ethan led the group. He rounded the corners and cut the switchbacks before anyone else, no one could keep up. His only companion was Otto, who had the advantage of four legs instead of our two. Towards the end we all caught up and saw the look of accomplishment and satisfaction in Ethan’s face.

At this point Ethan still had no idea of the plans we had for him. Ethan got a taste of it at Mount Hood, but had yet to fully experience it.

It; The vastness, amazingness, hugeness, and incredibleness of looking at a mountain and hiking over it, around it, or through it. Stepping back and realizing just how small you are and how big this world is. Realizing that you can do it, you can go that far.

Fast forward to the morning we woke in Yosemite—Ethan, climbed out of the back of the truck already complaining of the cold while our two other friends made coffee and examined the cheap map the park had given us. Our daypacks were packed full of half peanut butter sandwiches, Lara Bars, not enough water, and Coors that quickly warmed as our hike began to the Ten Lakes.

12 miles, 15 tops for a round trip hike you guys. Patrick assured us he could read the map. All our trust was in the idea that this 15 mile hike would be over in time to grill our steaks, make a pot of chili, and drink cold beers when we got back. Five hours after my first swallow of water we sat on a rock ledge and sipped our warm Coors, each holding the can up to match depcition of the mountain on the can with the real thing. It didn’t matter that we weren’t looking at the Rockies that were represented on the Coors can. The mountains in front of us were spectacular.

“Fucking sick man,” Ethan said under his breath, his Canadian accent barely audible. He was feeling it. I could see him forgetting about what he’d left behind in the city. He sees the world in front of him. He turned around and looked where we had come from and he faced forward and looked where we were going, what lay ahead for the rest of the day, for the rest of the summer, the year…

Another 6 hours passed. We were drunk with dehydration and dragging our feet while silently cursing the map-reader and his poor decisions. This 15-mile hike appeared to be closer to 30 miles. The map was tattered from all of us fingering it, trying to decide which way to go. We figured it would shortest to continue in the direction we were going. We’d hit a road eventually and be able to find our campsite from there. Thirty miles from camp with very little water and no food, Ethan started singing:

O Canada!

Our home and native land!

True patriot love in all thy sons command

Tired, hungry, thirsty and sick of being in the woods, Ethan did the only thing he could think of to lift our spirits, he sang. He sang a song that none of us knew and made us laugh when his voice cracked. He only knew the first few lines. Hours passed after the sun had set. We had two headlamps between five hikers. We continued singing: Christmas carols, 90’s pop, Backstreet Boys, folk songs, jingles from our favorite commercials… we began feeding off one another’s energy.

We also took turns feeling too weak to go on, too tired to care if we ever made it out, and sometimes so negative about the situation that we wanted to sit on a rock, pray we didn’t freeze to death, and sleep until the sun rose again. But then we’d remember how amazing the lakes looked and push on. Someone would bring up the fact that we had steak to grill upon return to the campsite, we had left cold beers in the cooler. Camp was near, we could taste it. We’d sing another song, a goofier, stupider song to get us around the next switch back. We were a team pushing through the night to make it out healthy and alive. Well, at least alive.

Ethan led us for many miles. His confidence from having discovered the wilderness and appreciating the beauty of nature pushed him forward. I watched him transform from a street kid with no ambition to a guy that wanted to learn about hiking shoes and why hikers wear wool socks instead of cotton.

I watched a kid begin to care about where he was in the world and what he was doing. The double miles of our hike made the beer that much colder and the steak that much more tender. After a full day day and half the night in the woods we sat down to a meal and reminisced about we had just done. We’d come full circle back to the campsite and were already laughing about what had just happened.

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I used to live in Taiwan. That was where I developed a taste for taking on ridiculously difficult challenges with little or no preparation. I had a friend there named Jeremy Taws. He also liked to take on ridiculous physical challenges without considering the consequences.

Jeremy and I would meet at night to go for 20km runs and stop along the way to do pushups and sit-ups. We’d finish around midnight and then go for Chinese food at a local restaurant or get drunk.

Individually, we believed in our ability to do anything we put our minds to. When we got together we talked about epic journeys, like cycling from Hong Kong to Casa Blanca and kayaking from Taiwan to the Philippines.

We also talked about climbing Jade Mountain — which is normally a two-day trip — in a single day. When the opportunity came up, we grabbed it. Physically, we were up to the challenge.

Mentally, however, it would be a different story. Our combined intelligence, as it turned out, would not be sufficient to get us to the summit.

The Jade Mountain (Yushan) Trail

Jade Mountain is a symbol of national pride in Taiwan. Like I mentioned, it’s considered my many to be the tallest peak in East Asia. Not everyone agrees on that because there are all sorts of different ways of measuring mountains and interpretations of what area “East Asia” includes. Argumentative geographic douchebaggery aside, it’s a very popular mountain to climb.

Taiwan is densely populated. It has a population about 2/3 the size of Canada’s in an area smaller than Lake Superior. The trail to the peak of Jade Mountain is possibly the most popular hike in Taiwan — which means there are a lot of people in the country that want to hike the trail each year, and that’s before you factor in peakbaggers coming from Hong Kong, Mainland China, Japan, and Malaysia and the rest of the world.

For safety and environmental reasons, the trail is limited to a certain number of visitors each day. To deal with the excessive demand for hiking permits, the parks department holds a lottery for permits several months in advance.

If you are lucky enough to win the lottery, you’re given a permit for dates that cannot be changed. If the weather is bad, you’re out of luck. If you can’t get the time off of work, too bad. I had twice obtained permits to climb Jade Mountain only to have the trips cancelled because of circumstances.

The hike to the peak is very steep. From trailhead to peak is only 10.9 kilometres, but it climbs nearly 1400m. The vast majority of permits given are for two-day trips, during which one night spent at the Paiyun Lodge in the park. Although it’s possible, relatively few climbers attempt to summit Jade Mountain in one day.

Last fall, however, we learned that the Paiyun Lodge was being renovated, so the park was not issuing two-day permits and, since few people try to climb the mountain in one day, there was no lottery. We would be able to get a one-day permit — and we did.

Preparation

Climbers who attempt one-day ascents of Yushan usually leave the campsite around 3:30 am. The drive from Tainan to the campsite would take about four hours. So, we decided to leave Tainan mid-afternoon on Saturday, arrive around dusk, and try to get a few hours of sleep before starting the climb on Sunday morning.

The trip required little preparation. We both brought tents, sleeping bags, headlamps, and water. On our way out of town we stopped at a large grocery store to buy provisions. I stocked up on fruit and trail mix for the following day.

“Hey, you want a luchbox for dinner?” Jeremy asked me at one point.

“Sure.” I replied.

A lunchbox is a staple of Taiwanese dining. It is a small box that usually include a piece of chicken or pork, a couple of sides of vegetables, and some rice. The quality of lunchboxes varies greatly. Some are healthy delicious packets of nutrition, and some are greasy slabs of soggy nastiness, depending on where you buy them.

The Attempt

We arrived at the campsite near dusk and set up camp. Then it was time for dinner. The lunchboxes that Jeremy had bought were greasy slabs of soggy nastiness — some of the worst I’ve ever seen. I ate a few bits of the chicken before throwing it away. Luckily, I wasn’t very hungry.

Jeremy, however, is not as picky as me. He ate his whole lunchbox and then we climbed into our tents to try and get some sleep.

I woke up around 2 a.m. I knew I wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep, so I went to the van to read. Jeremy heard me walking around and got up too. Since we were both awake, we decided to get an early start — but not until we had some breakfast. I ate some trail mix and fruit. Jeremy ate another one of those nasty lunchboxes (he had bought three). How he managed to force down that disgusting chicken leg covered in congealed grease is beyond me.

Jeremy is an animal.

We started up the trail at a brisk, but sustainable, pace planning to stop every couple of hours for a short snack break. Jeremy complained that his stomach was upset. I made fun of him for eating so much greasy nastiness. After a while, though, it became clear that the food was having a significant effect on his performance.

Jeremy began walking slower than me, which was definitely not normal for him. Jeremy was usually the one trying to go to fast while I’d try to slow him down.

We arrived at the Paiyun Lodge, just two kilometres short of the peak, around 10am. Jeremy was feeling awful, talking about having chills and stomach pains. We were both also exhausted and starting to slow down. We took a short break.

At the lodge the trail split. One narrow trail ran along the side of the lodge and appeared to dead end behind it. The other started uphill toward the park ranger’s cabin. We started up that trail.

As we traversed a hillside in the dawn, I began to realize that Jeremy was becoming delirious. We’d walk in silence for a while, and then he’d suddenly ask me something like, “Did you hear somebody shout?” or, “Is there somebody up on that ridge?”

Those were things that he possibly could have noticed that I had missed while lost in thought, but I was sure something was wrong when he commented, “Somebody had a good time up here.”

“Why do you say that?”

“The Taiwan Beer can.” He replied, pointing at the ground.

There was no Taiwan Beer can.

“You’re hallucinating, Jeremy.”

“Shit, really?” He squinted and stared at the spot on the ground. “Whoah,” he said, shaking his head.

We were very close to the peak, and there were no sketchy parts on the trail, so we pushed on, but I was concerned. We were on a steep hillside and would likely have to do some scrambling before we reached the summit.

The trail continued to climb and entered a forest. Suddenly, we found ourselves standing in the middle of the forest with nowhere else to go. The trail ended. We could see no ground above us. At the end of the forest was a cliff.

This was not right. I had seen photos of the peak of Jade Mountain. It’s a rocky peak with a 360-degree view (which I had been hoping to photograph).

Then I recalled the sign on the trail near the cabin. I had barely noticed it. It said, “East Peak”. It had not occurred to me that there could be more than one peak. We had climbed the wrong one.

Not that our mistake had saved us any effort. The East Peak is 3869m, which puts it less than 100m lower than the summit at 3952m.

We got all the work, and none of the view. We could hardly see anything. So, after walking around in the forest and a nice long rest, we started down.

Jeremy stopped hallucinating, though his stomach continued to bother him. We passed numerous hikers coming up the trail.

We had been on the trail for nearly twelve hours at that point. Our muscles were overflowing with lactic acid, and every step was uncomfortable. We began complaining.

“I can’t wait ’till this is over.”

“I am NEVER coming back here.”

“Yeah, fuck this place. Lets get home.”

We spent the drive home vowing along never to put ourselves through such an ordeal again.

Back to Normal

The next day Jeremy called me.

“Dude, I can’t believe we didn’t make it to the summit. We have to go back. They didn’t even check our permits. We could totally sneak up in the dark.”

“Well, it’s still a few weeks before the park closes for the winter…”

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