In mid-April, a colleague sent photos of blooming lady’s slipper orchids at the mountaintop. Two days later, I set off with four other flower enthusiasts from Kenting, driving seven hours to Jiali Mountain in Miaoli.
The next morning, sunlight filtering through the treetops signaled the perfect timing for our flower pilgrimage. Drawn by the sight of Taiwan’s native orchid, which blooms only on sheer cliffs, we eagerly stepped into the trailhead at around 1,350 meters above sea level. The moment we entered the forest, the towering cedar trees lining the path instantly brightened our view.
Not far into the hike, we encountered our first beautiful orchid—the broad-leaved Cymbidium, its clusters of pinkish-purple blooms resembling angel wings, delicate and enchanting in the dappled sunlight. My colleagues rushed across the rugged slope to take photos of it. As we ventured further, we realized these terrestrial orchids were scattered throughout the woods.
Crossing the clear Fengmei Stream, we saw the Taiwan red maple along the banks just beginning to sprout fresh green leaves, so vibrant that even the mountain birds couldn’t resist singing their praises. Beyond the stream, the cedar forest gave way to a tangle of native tree species. The growth patterns of the trees made it clear this forest had once been clear-cut and replanted. Yet the native tree seeds lying dormant in the soil had waited patiently for their chance to sprout, and now they were striving skyward, radiating the vitality of survival and the intensity of competition.
The mountain trails were all shaded by trees, eliminating the need for hats to block the sun. The broad-leaved Cymbidium, which had left us all awestruck shortly after entering the forest, became increasingly abundant as we climbed higher. Every time we came across a new cluster of its radiant blooms, my colleagues joked that the previous photos could be deleted. Along the path, plants from the Araceae family displayed curious spathes, while the fiery red berries of Ardisia crenata added a festive touch, attracting many camera lenses. The blooming white-flowered Rauvolfia and Calanthe orchids danced like floral fairies, splashing color across the forest floor and constantly distracting us from our quest for the lady’s slipper orchid.
Beside a switchback trail, we spotted the ghost orchid. This saprophytic plant of the forest floor has leaves but no foliage—its crystal-clear flower stems are so ethereal that one can’t help but admire them reverently among the fallen leaves. Like the Cymbidium, clusters of ghost orchids appeared one after another. While some of us, cameras in hand, urged everyone to hurry up because the main attraction—the lady’s slipper orchid—was still far ahead, these flower lovers always lagged behind. Our group, intoxicated by the sea of blooms, felt as if we had stepped into a garden of spring. Though the trail was steep and challenging, the slow pace made the climb feel effortless. Even without seeing the lady’s slipper orchid, this experience alone would have made the journey worthwhile.
After crossing the 2,000-meter elevation mark and treading on fallen blooms of Rhododendron simsii, we finally spotted the Taiwan lady’s slipper orchid clinging to the cliff face. Its large pink-and-purple flowers were strikingly beautiful, with each plant bearing just a single leaf. Everyone marveled at how difficult it would be to climb up and photograph them. A fellow hiker descending the mountain told us there was a cliff nearby covered with nearly 500 orchids, where we could get a bit closer. Wow—we really could get closer, though still nowhere near touching the blossoms. The younger members of our group went all out to capture shots of the cliffside orchids, truly risking life and limb. Such a rare and exquisite orchid could only survive in such an inaccessible place. Otherwise, it might have been dug up or plucked long ago. One hiker we met by the flowers admitted he had been tempted to pick one as a souvenir, but ultimately didn’t—not because his conscience stopped him, but because he didn’t want to risk losing his life over it.
Five hours into the hike (the guidebook claimed the round trip took just three hours), my colleagues sat around the lady’s slipper orchid, taking photos or having lunch, all wearing satisfied smiles. This unassuming Taiwanese mountain, not often frequented by hikers, had led us to climb 700 meters without fatigue. And because of the lady’s slipper orchid’s call, we had stumbled into a garden of spring, feeling truly blessed to be in Taiwan.