Twice in the last fortnight I’ve been to Kaohsiung’s Agongdian Reservoir (阿公店水庫), and not just because it’s a toponym I adore. The literal meaning of Agongdian (阿公店) is “grandpa’s shop,” although it seems this place name never referred to a silver-haired shopkeeper’s place of business.
The first human inhabitants of this part of Kaohsiung called the area Agongtoan. The Fujianese migrants who arrived in the 17th century changed the pronunciation to “A-kong tiam,” and applied it to both the town now known as Gangshan (岡山) and the stream called Agongdian Creek (阿公店溪).
On my second and much more relaxed visit, I rode my bike around the reservoir’s 6.82-km-long cycling trail and took a closer look at the arrays of photovoltaic panels that have been installed on the surface of the water. If this floating power station, which was set up in 2017, is expanded as planned, it’ll soon be producing enough clean electricity to meet the needs of well over 4,000 households. The arrays cover the southeastern quarter of the reservoir, and are clearly visible in satellite photos.
Photo: Steven Crook
Agongdian Creek was dammed in the early 1950s to create a reservoir with a surface area of 410 hectares. The project had been initiated by the Japanese colonial authorities in 1942, but work was suspended after flooding damaged the site. Once the dust of World War II and the Chinese Nationalist Party’s (KMT) retreat to Taiwan had settled, work proceeded rapidly. The 2.38-km-long barrier was completed in August 1953.
Before the reservoir became a source of renewable energy, most of the environmental news it generated was bad. For many years, it was blighted by eutrophication and other water-quality problems. A 2009 survey of 59 reservoirs in Taiwan found Agongdian to be among the five worst affected.
The authorities have stressed that the reservoir supplies farms and industry, not households, but this isn’t entirely reassuring. When so much of the water is used by farmers or food-processing companies, what’s to stop whatever’s tainting it from ending up in our food?
Photo: Steven Crook
Eutrophication is caused by an excess of nutrients in a pond or lake that causes a build-up of algae and other plant life which then prevents light and oxygen from entering the water. Almost always, the nutrients arrive in the form of fertilizer runoff from surrounding farmland. In the case of Agongdian Reservoir, an estimated 32 percent of its catchment area is devoted to orchards.
Water samples have also frequently detected glyphosate, an herbicide. One 2017 study noticed that the occurrence of glyphosate was much higher in summertime than in the spring, matching local agricultural practices. During my circumnavigation by bike, I saw fruit trees so close to the reservoir that, if the wind blew a certain way while the farmer sprayed, residues would immediately go into the water.
The authorities claim the situation is now much better. A bilingual information panel I came across on top of the dam soon after I began my anti-clockwise circuit says, “The water quality... has been improved dramatically by drawing in clean water from Cishan Creek (旗山溪). The mirror-clean and lustrous lake and neighboring Big Gangshan (大岡山) and Little Gangshan (小岡山) together have composed a great masterpiece of art.”
Photo: Steven Crook
I’m not sure I’d go that far, but the view from the barrier is pretty. If it’s a sunny day — here in the south, few days aren’t — going all the way around the reservoir is well worth it. If you haven’t arrived by bicycle, and don’t want to rent a share bike, join the locals who jog or hike all the way around. The northern part of the trail has some gradients, but they won’t slow you down by much.
Three minor sights can be seen from the base of the grass-covered dam. One is the well-kept Agongdian Forest Park (阿公店森林公園), which has an artificial creek to boost biodiversity, and a playground, but few actual trees. That said, there’s an impressive Samanea saman and a hefty American mahogany that looks far older than it is (40-odd years, according to a sign).
Looking westward to a tree-covered ridge, I got a clear view of Siaogangshan Skywalk (崗山之眼, open Tuesday to Friday from 9am to 6pm; admission NT$100 including shuttle bus). The third point of interest is the Merit People’s Livelihood Monument (功濟民生碑), an elegant sandstone stele commemorating the dam’s completion.
Photo: Steven Crook
Moving to the southern end of the dam, I came to Agongdian Reservoir Scenic Area Management Office (阿公店水庫風景區管理處). Not content with building one of Taiwan’s largest solar arrays on the water, the authorities have covered the roof of every building here with additional PV units. Most of the parking spots are shaded by solar cells, and there are even more panels atop the adjacent army base.
I pushed my bike across the 243-meter-long Risheng Penglai Suspension Bridge (日昇蓬萊吊橋) and worked my way northward along the reservoir’s eastern shore. After about 2km, the trail climbed into thick bamboo forest, reemerging at Yanpo Suspension Bridge (煙波吊橋, 405m long). This is my favorite part of the reservoir. You can hear birdsong because there’s no traffic within earshot, and if I had to sum up the scenery in two words, I’d say: tropical fjords.
Steven Crook has been writing about travel, culture, and business in Taiwan since 1996. He is the co-author of A Culinary History of Taipei: Beyond Pork and Ponlai, and author of Taiwan: The Bradt Travel Guide, the third edition of which has just been published.
Photo: Steven Crook
That US assistance was a model for Taiwan’s spectacular development success was early recognized by policymakers and analysts. In a report to the US Congress for the fiscal year 1962, former President John F. Kennedy noted Taiwan’s “rapid economic growth,” was “producing a substantial net gain in living.” Kennedy had a stake in Taiwan’s achievements and the US’ official development assistance (ODA) in general: In September 1961, his entreaty to make the 1960s a “decade of development,” and an accompanying proposal for dedicated legislation to this end, had been formalized by congressional passage of the Foreign Assistance Act. Two
Despite the intense sunshine, we were hardly breaking a sweat as we cruised along the flat, dedicated bike lane, well protected from the heat by a canopy of trees. The electric assist on the bikes likely made a difference, too. Far removed from the bustle and noise of the Taichung traffic, we admired the serene rural scenery, making our way over rivers, alongside rice paddies and through pear orchards. Our route for the day covered two bike paths that connect in Fengyuan District (豐原) and are best done together. The Hou-Feng Bike Path (后豐鐵馬道) runs southward from Houli District (后里) while the
March 31 to April 6 On May 13, 1950, National Taiwan University Hospital otolaryngologist Su You-peng (蘇友鵬) was summoned to the director’s office. He thought someone had complained about him practicing the violin at night, but when he entered the room, he knew something was terribly wrong. He saw several burly men who appeared to be government secret agents, and three other resident doctors: internist Hsu Chiang (許強), dermatologist Hu Pao-chen (胡寶珍) and ophthalmologist Hu Hsin-lin (胡鑫麟). They were handcuffed, herded onto two jeeps and taken to the Secrecy Bureau (保密局) for questioning. Su was still in his doctor’s robes at
President William Lai’s (賴清德) March 13 national security speech marked a turning point. He signaled that the government was finally getting serious about a whole-of-society approach to defending the nation. The presidential office summarized his speech succinctly: “President Lai introduced 17 major strategies to respond to five major national security and united front threats Taiwan now faces: China’s threat to national sovereignty, its threats from infiltration and espionage activities targeting Taiwan’s military, its threats aimed at obscuring the national identity of the people of Taiwan, its threats from united front infiltration into Taiwanese society through cross-strait exchanges, and its threats from
RSS