Day Two
The morning brought the gentle awakening of nature. Sticking my head out of the sleeping bag, I felt the crisp, cold air, then lingered lying down for a moment, listening to the birdsong around us—thankful for a day without rain and praying for smooth, peaceful steps ahead. We began packing away sleeping bags and sleeping pads, dismantling the tarps and ropes, and organizing our backpacks before placing them in a central pile. To our delight, the guides had already rekindled last night’s fire and prepared hot, sweet rice porridge. Every warm bite carried pure strength, comforting us deeply.
However, what goes in must come out. Using the bathroom in the wilderness presents a major challenge for most people. Teacher Shan-Lu shared a perspective on how human waste serves as a nourishing gift returned to the earth, though it requires mindful handling. First, one must find a suitable spot—far from the campsite, hidden, and off the main trail, with the base of a large tree being an ideal choice. Urination poses little issue; while using leaves for wiping takes getting used to, toilet paper may be used as long as it is packed out in a small plastic bag. After all, scattered toilet paper distorts the beauty of the woods, and paper does not belong in nature.
For bowel movements, proper leave-no-trace techniques are essential: digging a fist-sized hole with a rock or stick in a discreet location, aiming carefully into the pit, and backfilling it with soil and fallen leaves once finished. Finally, a natural marker—such as a small cairn or arranged twigs—is placed over the spot to signal others, while used paper is sealed in a bag to pack out, preserving an unblemished forest.
Messages from Nature
After enjoying breakfast, we prepared to depart, but a crucial step remained: restoring the campsite to its wild state. After cooking, Teacher Shan-Lu and the guides began cooling the campfire, pulling out the large logs and scattering the fine embers to reduce the heat. Yet the ashes remained scorching hot. Teacher Shan-Lu discussed the options with everyone, outlining his thoughts: he faced three choices—wait for it to cool, leave it as is, or use water to douse it. Waiting posed a challenge due to our tight schedule; leaving it unattended risked rekindling forest fires; and using water felt uneasy to him, as fire seemed to resist water with a loud hiss—a method he had never used before.
Just as Teacher Shan-Lu finished explaining his dilemma, a sudden gust of wind swept through the valley into the woods, unleashing a gentle rain of falling leaves. For a minute or two, everyone stood in spellbound silence, watching the swirling leaves—a moment that felt like a quiet message from the mountain spirit. On the spot, Teacher Shan-Lu decided to use water to lower the temperature. He invited everyone to fetch their water bottles and pour a small stream in a spiral pattern over the embers. As the water hit the hot ash, it hissed loudly, releasing thick plumes of white steam—a vivid manifestation of the raw power when fire meets water. Touching the ashes afterward, the heat had dropped dramatically.
Right at that miraculous moment, another breeze swept through—an unusual timing that left everyone in quiet awe. Ash is rich in nutrients for plant life, so we scattered the cooled grey powder around the bases of nearby trees, set aside the logs and rocks, and sprinkled fallen leaves over the bare ground. Looking back, the camp had returned entirely to its original state. This gentle approach toward the earth required careful consideration of every detail, from lighting the flame to quenching the last ember. Experiencing this process firsthand kindled an inner flame within the children—a realization of how to tread gently upon our land.
The Test Begins
Shouldering our heavy packs once more, we set off. The stretch toward Baishi proved to be the most grueling leg of the five-day trek, featuring steep, continuous ascents over roughly five kilometers. Toward the end, our legs felt heavy as lead, with deep soreness throbbing through our hips, thighs, and shoulders. The lead guide adjusted the pace while we focused on regulating our breath, taking slow, deliberate steps forward.
A true test lay along the way: crossing the Baishi Suspension Bridge over the Sakyakjin Creek. Spanning 145 meters across two mountains with a 90-meter drop beneath, the bridge swayed gently in the wind at its midpoint, framing a breathtaking view of mountain peaks and winding streams. Watching a child who was normally terrified of heights press onward—walking stiffly like a penguin with arms extended for balance—was truly inspiring. There was no escape, only brave, head-on courage.
We reached the Baishi Police Post by afternoon—the only historical outpost along the trail with its original timber structure fully preserved. A flat, sunlit clearing stretched before it, and I sank blissfully onto the grass, letting my body release every ounce of weight for instant relief.
Our campsite was located in the woods just above the post, offering a wide, spacious clearing where our tarp setup felt even more comfortable. Then came today’s challenge: the students had to select their own spot, tie the main ridge lines, hang the tarps, and tension the guy lines entirely on their own, with guides only inspecting the final work. The children moved with impressive agility, completing the task swiftly.
Afterward, the same rotated small groups took on campfire setup and dinner preparation, giving everyone a thorough understanding of all camp duties. Building the campfire pit served as another test for the students. They had to gather dry, fine leaves for tinder and construct a stable teepee wood structure. Teacher Shan-Lu demonstrated the process once before dismantling it, leaving the children to experiment until they successfully built a sturdy, freestanding wood stack.
Tonight’s fire-making by friction was also placed in the hands of the students. Pulling the fire cord required extensive practice—kneeling on one knee, channeling full arm strength, and coordinating momentum with a partner to maintain balanced tension while keeping the cord centered on the spindle. As dusk settled, we illuminated the workspace with our headlamps. Teacher Shan-Lu stepped in to hold down the top socket while the children took turns pulling the cord. Realizing their individual strength was insufficient, two children paired up on each side to pull together, while another used both hands to help stabilize the central spindle. Surrounding classmates sang in unison: “Give us fire!”—offering sincere prayers to the mountain spirit.
After countless attempts, a spark caught and flared into flame. Everyone gazed at the glowing fire light with deep gratitude.
We watched the guides prepare dinner over the hearth, serving warm chestnut rice. Simple ingredients tasted extraordinary; rare, genuine hunger made us cherish every morsel of hard-earned food, realizing that nothing in life is taken for granted—it takes the collective strength of many to sustain us. After dinner, we gathered around the fire to share our chosen “nature names” and moments of inner peace. Each person offered unique insights, while the central fire bound our collective consciousness together. Listening closely to one another’s words, we began calling each other by our nature names.
To be continued…
Teacher Hsiao-Ling
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