Text/Forgetting River
Wulipo, known as "the last Shangri-La in Chongqing". In Tibetan, "Shangri-La" means "paradise on earth," and this dream-like beautiful name tempted me to go there for a walk.
When the yang onion ping tianchi morning rhyme. Photo by Wu Jianbo
Starting from the county seat of Wushan, we traveled northeast to the pingding river, and we walked against the river in the deep Wulipo Grand Canyon. The scorching sun and heat are blocked out of the canyon by the towering rocks on both sides of the canyon, the blue sky above the head is full of white clouds, the green mountains on both sides of the river are dripping with green wildflowers, the cliffs are dead vines and strange cypress waterfalls, and the boulders in the riverbed are flowing. From time to time, tourists with young and old people stop to play by the river, and the happy cries of children echo in the quiet valley.
Onion Ping Tianchi. Photo by Ran Yong
Turning a corner, the majestic mountain blocks the way, a pocket town is obediently creeping at the foot of the mountain, and the dragon flying phoenix on the welcome stone at the entrance of the town is written with several big words: Dangyang style town, is the night to stay in the town.
As the night grew darker, I strolled along the banks of the Pingding River with my friends. Quiet, really quiet! The town was as quiet as a sleepy baby in the arms of the mountains. Stroll up the small bridge, watch the stars covered with gray-blue sky, the lights of the town's people, listen to the babbling of water under your feet, and occasionally a few lazy dog barks in the distance. The cool breeze has whisked away the anxiety brought about by the sweltering heat for several days, whisked away the fatigue and wind and dust of the journey, whisked away the noise and hustle and bustle of the city, whisked away the mundane affairs and disturbances in the red dust, and even the dust on the heart seemed to be swept away.
The next morning, waking up to the chirping of birds, the gentle morning light penetrated the window ledge, tempting me to come to the small river again. Under the green mountains, small stone bridges, silver-glowing cobblestones cover the riverbed, the cries of hundreds of millions of early cicadas converge into a dark and surging sound, in harmony with the breeze and water; stilt houses, green garden wood, decaying wooden troughs and quaint stone grinding pots have langrasses and brightly colored dahlias, small flower cats pretend to play with colorful butterflies in the pumpkin flowers; old ladies in raccoon clothes by the river, busy old men on the ground, slowly walking towards three or two tourists with cameras, and then look at themselves who are secretly photographing themselves with their mobile phones. Everyone couldn't help but look at each other.
Amid the sound of cicadas and birds chirping, cars circled up the mountain road, and we continued to advance deep into the Five Mile Slope. As the altitude continues to rise, our horizons gradually open up, and the mountains finally reveal their true faces one by one. Only to see the cramped Wulipo Grand Canyon in the rear of the town continue to extend to the depths, the mountains on both sides of the canyon stretch endlessly majestically, the cliffs are unfathomable eagles and apes, and finally they are interpreted into various strange and strange peaks pointing directly at Xiaohan. Some lonely peaks stand like swords, some peaks are entangled with each other, some are round like jade women laughing, some are thin like dapeng wings, some are like the graceful lotus throne at the feet of Guanyin, and some are like colorful flags flying in the marching procession. We stopped and walked, while succumbing to the power of nature's miraculous work, while enjoying this rare peace and quiet, unconsciously the time of day passed.
Onion Meadow Tianchi. Photo by Wu Jianbo
On the third day, before dawn, we set out for the Lianping Wetland Park, which is more than 2,000 meters above sea level. Led by a mountain guide, we divided into two motorcycles without front brakes that trembled and roared at the first fire, carefully crossed a collapsed road, and drove in horror through the gravel road that had been washed away by the flash flood. Sometimes stepping on the natural stone steps sprinkled with fallen leaves, sometimes climbing vines and climbing in the jungle, the light of the sun stained the distant mountains, all the way, the dead vines and old trees curved and dried branches, the morning wind was steep and the waves were strong, the cicadas and birds were singing and the mountains were quiet, we greedily breathed in the air with the fragrance of the forest, and even the arduous journey became easy and interesting.
The guide, a solid man with a bronze face, saw our photographer climbing the mountain with heavy equipment with some difficulty, and silently snatched it from his hand. After becoming familiar, his words gradually increased. He pointed to the distant peaks, all kinds of magical and magnificent legends told, the origin of the upside-down Bell Ping, Zhong'an Temple, and palanquin stone made people feel mysterious, the enchanted fox spirit made people feel heartbroken, the poignant myths of Girl Rock and Hao Hanpo made people reverie, the stories of Flag Mountain, Tianzi Tomb, and Yama's Nose Ghost Gate Pass made people listen to the intestines, and the legend of the true and false ninja ping and the birth of the child made us sigh at the encounter of xue Gang's family, which is controversial in folklore. He pointed to the inconspicuous grass and trees on the side of the road and told us that this was Chai Hu, this was "a bead on the top of the head", this was "seven leaves and one flower", this was "Wen Wang's pen", this was Metasequoia, this was Juntong, this was yew... We opened our mouths wide in amazement: these precious tree species and medicinal herbs are everywhere here!
Onion Ping Immortal Rice Field. Photo by Ran Yong
"Can I pick it?" I asked with a smile.
"No, you can't!" He said seriously, "Here is a national nature reserve, a real no-man's land, ordinary tourists are strictly forbidden to enter, there are hundreds of cameras on this road, our every move is in the monitoring, it is clearly seen." If you weren't a reporter here, I wouldn't have taken you into the mountains. I was ashamed to quietly spit out my tongue in a word, daring me to have the privilege of entering the mountain for a look, all stained with the light of the Hu Da reporter who was traveling with me, and also let us understand the reason why we did not meet other tourists along the way.
"Are there any beasts?"
"Very much!" Speaking of wild beasts, his eyes lit up, "Jackals, clouded leopards, golden cats, golden eagles, pheasants, soldering iron heads... The most common are wild boars, who are very annoying, and run to our fields in droves to steal the bud valley! ”
"Hit it!"
"That's not possible! At most scare it away. He shook his head repeatedly, "These are wild animals protected by national laws, and they could still be beaten a few years ago, but now they are all offered as treasures, which one dares to fight!" ”
"Are there bears?" Growing up listening to the story of Grandma Bear, I was curious about real bears.
"Yes! I've encountered it when I was guarding the forest! ”
"Are you a ranger?"
"No, it's also true, we are all rangers here, and everyone has a responsibility to protect the mountains."
"Does it hurt people?"
"No, these wild animals have spirituality, in fact, they are more afraid of people, if they are not forced or feel threatened, they will not take the initiative to attack people, you can't even see them, they hear someone coming from a distance and they hide." 」
Saying this, we were breathing cold behind us, and we always felt that there were countless eyes in the jungle that were peering at us, and everyone tried to slow down their steps and suppress the sound of speech to the minimum, for fear of breaking the quiet and peace here and disturbing the elves who were practicing in the mountains.
Finally reaching the top, behind the mysterious Liangping Wetland Park, the white clouds slowly floating in the blue sky seem to be within reach, and we climbed the high watchtower to overlook the road. Thousands of ravines are creeping under our feet, the town at the bottom of the mountain is like a distant and misty dream, and the scattered cottages on the mountainside are like pearls of all sizes scattered in the mountains, and the eyes are full of deep and shallow green, and the hazelnuts are lush.
After a short break, we walked into Theonpyeong, intending to visit the mysterious Tianchi and The Immortal Rice Fields. Onion Ping is a native subalpine meadow covering an area of about 300 hectares, named after the large number of wild onions growing among them. Beneath the enchanting blue sky is a vast wilderness illuminated by the bright sun, with low bushes lonely for hundreds of millions of years, dotted with various wildflowers swaying in the wind. We cut through the waist-deep grass, carefully avoiding the ditches and ridges and poisonous insects and scorpions that lurked in it, and even the guide got lost as we walked. We walked and stopped, watching and shooting, trekking for more than two hours, under the blue sky and white clouds, among the grass and flowers, a mirror-like circular water surface appeared in front of us, and the guide said: This is Tianchi.
The love of the Five Mile Slope Grand Canyon Waterfall. Photo by Wu Jianbo
Photographer Teacher Ran excitedly released the drone for a wild shot, and the guide reminded him: There is still a fairy rice field in front of him! The battery should be used sparingly. He ignored it, still standing on his stomach and crouching in circles, even if the ferocious mosquitoes were besieging him like a tide, he didn't care. Also, what true photographer can resist the temptation of such a beautiful view? The guide reminded us not to get too close to the edge of the pool, which was a swamp, and if we were not careful, we might fall into it, and Hu Da's reporter tentatively stepped on the grass by the pool, which was soft and soft, and as soon as he stepped down, the water squeaked out from under his feet, frightening him to jump back in a panic and take small steps. There were a few pieces of decaying wood floating in the pool covered with moss and weeds, and the guide said that this wood was a bit magical, and it was said that someone dragged it to the shore one day, and the next day it would return to the same place, floating on the surface of the water as if nothing had happened. This strange story makes us itch, and we also want to drag it up to see if it can really go back on its own, but no one dares to really try it, in case it angers the gods, it is not a joke!
When they arrived at the Immortal Rice Field, Teacher Ran shook his head, his intestines were remorseful, the scenery here was indeed more tempting, and the battery of the drone had been exhausted. If it weren't for the guide's introduction, I wouldn't have believed that the "8" shaped "rice field" in front of me was actually naturally formed. The dense bushes on the edge of the field, the narrow stalks, the clear water, the neat rows of seedlings, except for a farmer with his pants legs and barefoot, this is a rice field! But if you look closely, no, the seedling is not what I am familiar with, but an unknown weed.
In the face of this magical scene, in the face of the beautiful scenery along the way, we can't find the right words to express the shock of the heart in addition to sighing and marveling, and the guide also said with some regret: "Unfortunately, there are no clouds today, and the scenery surrounded by clouds is beautiful, like Yaochi Wonderland!" ”
However, in my heart, even if there is no cloud steaming Xiawei, this is already my Shangri-La, the paradise on earth in my heart!
About author:Forgetting Chuan, real name Yu Dongmei, is a student of the first senior training class for young and middle-aged writers in Chongqing. Daxi Township, Wushan County, Chongqing City, a junior high school Chinese teacher, shuttled through the clouds and rain of Wushan Mountain, fascinated by the autumn leaves of the sunset, charmed by the legend of the Three Gorges, and always had a literary dream in his heart.