Paving Crew

A paving crew put down a fresh liquorice-black ribbon of asphalt on the street 

by my school. No one knew they were coming.

By 8:30 am, curbside cars were carefully raised by forklift and gently placed 

on the sidewalk. Male and female construction workers in flip-flops and rubber boots 

tore up cracked tarmac chunks, graded and spread clean black-tar icing.

Some workers wore bamboo farmer hats while others wore hard hats.

Some were barefoot.

White chalked string snapped straight lines for painting.

Parking spaces, crosswalks and instructions were needed.

Green, red and white cream-glaze paint went down.

By afternoon, the yellow forklift gingerly placed the cars back on the street.

But two workers discussed a BMW – their yellow hard hats together.

It was hoisted again and repositioned 12 inches closer to the curb.

Then a perfect white rectangular box was painted around it.

Fly Fishing a Concrete Stream

The tiny artificial fly flutters like a dandelion seed and then gently settles close to a section of softly spilling water.  I’m casting a minute 5mm fly into a pool on a hillside stream. It’s late afternoon, and the fly imitates a midge or mayfly, winged aquatic insects emerging on the surface.

To imagine the fly’s landing location and make it happen takes much of my brainpower - an immersion. Pictures of the process flash still frames through my brain. Pulling the line off the water, back swing and some line let out, forward swing, more line added. The final back and forward cast are automatic because the fly’s destination is fixed in my head. 

Casting blocks everything except tumbling water and the metronome rhythm of the fly rod and line. I think that’s part of why I enjoy fly fishing. It’s not just watching nature but participating in nature. 

I’m pleasantly surprised when my fly lands next to the veil of water flowing over the modest waterfall rim. My skills are limited, but the fly line unrolls like a tossed coil of firefighter’s hose and settles bullseye. A jolt of satisfaction passes through me like a final puzzle piece snapped into place.

The water’s surface tension and light feather-fur fibers keep the fly afloat. The fly swishes slightly, side to side. I watch the tiny vertical tuft of yarn for a strike.

                                                                   ***

I’m in Dakeng, again, Taichung City’s eastern hills, which are filled with steep streams. I’m fly fishing a terraced stream with check dams interspersed down its length. Taiwan is primarily mountainous and combined with typhoons and heavy rains, some rivers have the greatest natural material discharge in the world. 

Dakeng’s streams are filled with simple blocks of poured concrete placed in rows across the streams. Each check dam retains rock and soil that washes downstream during rain.

After decades of natural erosion, the check dam edges are rounded and pebbly. The dams’ concrete colours have changed, softened, and blended to create a series of low terraced waterfalls down the hillside, each with a plunge pool below. The fish hold up around the pools. 

low check dams terrace the stream

clear concrete pool

The Fragrant Red karaoke restaurant owner, next to my stream, is sweeping up leaves. The acre surrounding his restaurant is filled with towering hardwood trees. Along with his wooded restaurant: farms, orchards, bushes, and forest line the stream edge. The area is tranquil. 

I roll up next to the boss and ask the stream’s name. He stops sweeping with his twig-broom and answers, “Keng Heng Xi.” Loosely translated, it means Big Valley stream.

The banks of Big Valley stream are concrete, but the streambed is left natural and filled with round rocks.  Tall grass and reeds sprout among the meandering channels. Jungle vegetation pours over the concrete sides that have gradually shifted in colour from white to grey to beige, olive-green or weathered earthen terracotta. The foliage softens and hides the artificial material.  

                                                                     

vegetation takes over the far stream bank

I park my scooter, grab my fly rod, and cling to thick bamboo trunks along a section of natural stream bank while heading down to the water. The water is cool on my sandaled feet as I crouch down, heading for the first pool. Dragonflies, the colour and texture of burgundy velvet, oscillate around me: their stained glass window wings blurred. Iridescent blue kingfishers patrol the stream like chubby darts with speedy wings. 

The check dam waterfall I’m approaching has rusted rebar rods protruding. The bars are bent round with wear. It’s strange, but in a stream, with such a huge human impact, my mind blocks out the man-made intrusions and focuses on the natural beauty flowing through and around artificial formations. It’s difficult to explain, but nature takes over.                                                                           

It’s just before sunset and multiple rings radiate from fish rising for bugs. Many aquatic insects hatch at sunrise and sunset. They float on the surface, preparing for liftoff.  I’m hunched over – nose to the stream surface.

I cast a few times, and fish rise, but no takers. The next pool is larger and deeper. It’s early summer, and the annual East Asian monsoons, or plum rains, have arrived. Kingfishers and egrets have feasted. I cast, and a fish rises gulps the fly and is soon to hand. It’s a small four-inch Taiwan horse mouth minnow. Big Valley Stream contains several species. Some near eight inches.

A hungry Taiwan horse mouth minnow 

Big Valley stream is a freestone stream and dependent on spring and summer rain. In June, southern China’s rain bustles over the stream’s smooth rocks. I slide over the side of a check dam. The pool below is deeper than anticipated, and water rises about my pockets. My cell phone holds its breath and survives.  The bills in my wallet are soaked. 

The water levels are high and murky. Fish are skittish in the low visibility. My tiny fly attracts another fish. I continue another 400 metres as the sun settles and long slender shadows push back from the tall grass. The day is almost done.

Small fish, but I’m not disappointed.  Next time, I might try a different fly or fish when water levels are lower and clearer. There is satisfaction standing in a heavily human-altered stream that still retains its natural character. On an island so dramatically transformed by human disruption, Big Valley stream carries on – bending rebar aside.