With Larry’s headlight, we could see that the road had made a sudden turn to the left, with a gaping concavity where Baba must have thought the road was.
“Baba!! John! Are you okay?” We called to him.
There was no response at first, just the sound of more breaking branches. Baba was scrambling to get back up, but the earth was soft and he was unable to hold on. He fell back down.
“Yes, I’m fine. I’m only about 2 meters below you guys.”
“Don’t move!” Larry cautioned. “Give your hand to Jerry. He’ll pull you back up.”
He grabbed my hand, and Larry and I manage to lift him back up. It was a close call. Larry couldn't help but chastise Baba. “You were going way too fast! I can’t believe that happened! Safety first!”
Baba bristled with mild annoyance. “My pace was fine. The problem was my light was too faint, and I just didn’t see the road bend in time. Plus, what’s that hole doing here, right where the road bends? This is really dangerous!”
“It doesn’t matter anymore! I’m taking the front and controlling our tempo from now on! Give me my bag!”
Larry switched bags back with Baba, and assumed the lead with his more powerful flashlight. However, his pace was excruciating slow, with understandable, but nonetheless, overblown caution.
After walking for another 10-20 minutes, we came upon some lights – it was the first temple, which was just below us, with its gates open and inviting. However, we had trouble finding the path down to it. The trail seemed to curl away from it and head into darkness. On the other hand, the slope down to the temple didn’t seem too precipitous; after all, there were many trees there to hold onto. Larry, however, stopped us from going any further. "Stop! Let me find a safe way down.” While he was looking, Baba grew impatient, and muttered, "There's no need to be so careful." He soon decided to lean over and grab a strong sapling, using it as an anchor to transfer his weight to the next tree. Going from tree to tree, he quickly made it down the slope in a safe and controlled manner. I followed after him using the same method, though my momentum carried me too far and I almost continued going down the mountain.
Larry was slightly annoyed at our perceived recklessness. "Stop guys!" He found a branch to use as a walking stick, then slowly makes his way down the slope, holding onto trees along the way. “You have to be more careful. Follow my lead!”
“You’re being way too slow and cautious. There was no danger with that slope,” Baba countered.
By now, some of the people inside the temple had heard the commotion, and came over to us. Larry greeted them. “Hi, sorry to bother you, but we are hikers who got a little lost. We’re trying to get to the bottom.”
“I see. It’s rather late. Perhaps you should try to make it down tomorrow,” the monk suggested.
“No, we need to get to Chengdu today. Please let us know how to get down.”
“We will get the Shifu/Master (師傅). He will open the temple gate entrance for you.”
“Alright, thank you.”
The local monks led us inside the temple, before heading off to get the Shifu. The temple area was somewhat large, and we wandered down a few sets of steps, trying to find our way down to the temple entrance at the bottom. It was a relief that we could see our way again, courtesy of the lights at the temple.
The Shifu came out soon afterwards, and unlocked the gate for us. He instructed us on how to continue forward: “Remember, after you cross the bridge on your way down, take a right at the fork immediately afterwards.” We continued on our way, and now the trail was much easier to walk on. Instead of the dirt path filled with rocky stairs (or no stairs at all), it was paved with clear cut steps, made for tourists.
Soon, we came to a fork in the road. We picked the right side, but it didn’t look right, as the road soon turned back into a dirt path. “You know, this is like the Shaolin route,” Larry joked.
“Haha yes, made for Shaolin monks, definitely not tourists,” Baba agreed.
“But I don't think it looks like the right path,” Larry said. We heard a voice from above and looked up. Someone from the temple, which was above us, had spotted us and was yelling, “Turn back! This is the wrong way!” And so we did so. I checked my watch – it was already 7:45pm! Our prior estimates were way off. I let out a sigh, “We’ll be lucky if we get back to Chengdu by 9pm."
“More like 10pm.” Larry countered.
We retraced our steps back to the fork, and followed the “tourist route” downwards. After a bit further, we crossed a bridge, and took a right. It eventually led us to a path that steadily got rockier and more rugged. Rocks hanging overhead closed in on us, and a railing was put in place. Below us, we could hear the rushing of water – it was a waterfall or some sort of drop on the other side of the railing. There were no steps; just a semi-steep rock-lain ramp. We held the railing and leaned back, stepping through gingerly, trying to maximize the traction of our shoes to grip the decline.
“Is this the right way?,” Larry questioned.
“But we were on the tourist path, and it led us right here,” I countered.
“I don’t know. This doesn't feel right. I think we should go back to the fork and explore the other route." Even though the Shifu had given us clear directions on how to proceed, we doubted ourselves and headed back uphill to the bridge to take the other fork. However, soon it was clear it was the wrong direction. That road was heading back up towards the top of the mountain.
And so we headed back to where we were only about half an hour ago. The trail was somewhat steep yes, and a little out of character, but there was a railing. After crossing that stretch, the touristy route path returned.
“You see! It’s the right way after all!” I exclaimed.
“All we lack is confidence,” Baba says.
“Okay, while that was not Shaolin level, that was definitely a Wudang route,” joked Larry.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Wudang is one level below Shaolin. While this road was not as difficult as the "Shaolin-class" dirt roads, it's still cut to challenge those Wudang monks who couldn’t hack it in Shaolin!”
We continued on, occasionally singing our songs, often in a call and response format, into the deep night.
"Wei..."
"The breeze caresses my sailboat..."
"Moving with the rhythm of the breeze..."
"Taking me to the land of memories..."
"Wei..."
"The breeze caresses my sailboat..."
"Sweetheart, I long to meet you again..."
"And tell you of my heart's emptiness..."
“喂…”
“微風吹動我的船帆…”
“船儿呀隨着微風蕩漾…”
“送我到日夜思念的地方…”
“喂…”
“微風吹動我的船帆…”
“姑娘呀我要和你見面”
“向你訴說心里的思念. ”
The time seemed to pass more quickly and soon we arrived at the second temple, but unlike the first, the gate here was closed and locked. Furthermore, there was no lights inside, and when we knocked, there was no answer.
We looked around for another path, but found that the temple gate had completely blocked off everything. There was no way around – one side of the temple is built into the mountain, and the other side is a steep drop-off to the bottom. We looked at each other despairingly.
At that moment, Larry picked up a tree branch and started using it to bang against the gate entrance. "Is anyone home?" He cried. "Please come and open the door! We are just a few weary travelers lost on the mountain!" No one answered, but he continued desperately.
If we could not get through the temple, we would only have two options: to retrace our steps and brave the steep slopes to try to get down the way we came, or spend the night camped out in front of the temple. Neither option was attractive, as we neither had any camping gear nor the heart to attempt an uphill ascent that would cover our 1.5 hours worth of downhill progress only to face a dangerously steep descent...
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