In 2012, I was a student and had arrived in Taiwan from the Czech Republic. I soon discovered something that interested me far more than my studies: the mountains of Taiwan. I would leave the campus to explore untouched trails near Taipei. I was obsessed with old maps, often looking for routes that had vanished from modern ones, and hiking paths that no one had taken for decades.
I stayed in Taiwan because of my love for the mountains – there are more than 250 peaks that exceed 3,000 metres. Among the local hiking community, I became known for my speed and knowledge of remote regions.
In October 2021, after a typhoon, I heard about a man who had gone missing. I decided to look for him. I hiked for 13 hours, but had no luck. When the man had been missing for more than a week, I received a message from his brother. He had heard about me and asked if I would carry out a search. The fire department was also looking for him.
Over the next three days, I covered 67km with a 6,800-metre elevation gain. I moved back and forth across the peaks, searching for any sign of life. After two weeks, the fire department called off the search.
When he’d been missing for 29 days, the family began to lose hope. We decided on one final attempt. This time, I knew I was close. I started finding fragments of fabric and discarded gear. I was terrified.
When I finally found him, the scene was harrowing. His body was wedged between rocks in the water; he had been dead for weeks. He was an experienced hiker but had underestimated the weather. A stream crossing must have turned fatal, washing him into a side creek where he became trapped between the rocks. I told him I would take him home.
As soon as I got a signal, I called my wife, Eva. She usually delivers the news – good or bad – to the families who hire me. His family gathered eight men, who went with me to bring the body back. We cleared a platform so a helicopter could airlift him out.
The family paid me 300,000 NTD (£7,200) to thank me, plus a 15,000 NTD (£360) day rate. They were devastated, but they finally had an answer. Now, each year, when his family returns to the mountain to pay their respects, they stop by my place.
I filmed the search and posted it on YouTube. It went viral. Since then, I’ve received many requests. I don’t always say yes, but I usually step in if the authorities aren’t making progress.
Sometimes, I carry out search and rescue operations alongside the fire department; other times, I continue after they have called off the search.
Every search begins at my computer, poring over maps and analysing data. I ask the family to provide the missing person’s last-known phone signal location and any CCTV footage from the trailhead car park – this information is invaluable.
Eva and I also interview relatives or friends to understand the missing person’s state of mind – whether they were an experienced hiker who took a wrong turn or perhaps an older person who lost their way.
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In my time conducting search and rescue, I have found seven survivors. Sadly, the number of those I find dead is higher. Most people die because they don’t have a map downloaded and make the fatal decision to head downhill. The mountains in Taiwan are vertical. Going down into a valley is a death trap. Those who die almost always do so from a fall.
Search and rescue is a side job. My full-time work with Eva is hosting the Formosa Trail, a mountain race in Taiwan. It’s rewarding to share the beauty of Taiwan’s mountains with people from all over the world.
Finding someone alive brings relief, but seconds later, the mind races: how do we extract them? How do we report it to the authorities? It’s similar when finding a body. There’s the initial shock, and then the immediate pivot to logistics: safe evacuation and next steps. The emotional fallout hits me long after I’ve left the mountain.
Doing this has given my life a true sense of purpose. If I save someone or solve a case, it counts for ever.
As told to Chi-hui Lin
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