“Does river resilience mean avoiding any disasters? Or does it refer to the ability to recover quickly when disasters occur?” asked Professor Chen Junming from the National Tsing Hua University’s Center for Sustainable and Resilient Development. At this moment, we were walking along the riverside path, listening to the professor's questions while observing the afternoon's Touqian River. The river flowed gently by, with occasional fishermen holding slender fishing rods and elderly women gathering oysters in plastic baskets, quietly attending to their tasks. A few blue fishing boats lazily rested on the sandbanks, and the entire Touqian River exuded an aura of tranquility.
At that moment, I was uncertain which option was correct: Is it not the best outcome if rivers can avoid causing any disasters? However, if to avoid all disasters we build towering levees and block all means of approaching the river, it seems we are severing the fundamental connection between people and land. What does resilience mean for a river? This seemingly short question is not a simple multiple-choice query; it requires consideration of many aspects.
Rewinding back several hours, I was on the observation deck of the South Liao Fishing Port Visitor Center in Hsinchu, gazing at the intersection of the blue and white sky and the indigo Taiwan Strait in the distance. The sea breeze brushed against my cheeks, carrying a hint of saltiness. As my gaze shifted from the distant ocean to the near shore's river mouth, the tail of the Touqian River continued to flow peacefully. This river carries the lifeblood of all the residents in the Greater Hsinchu area and has witnessed the rise and fall of Zhuqian Port.
For those of us born and raised in Hsinchu, the Touqian River exists as both a familiar and unfamiliar presence. Although I have heard the name of this mother river, I never truly understood her life story or personally felt her water's temperature and flow. In my memories, the Touqian River was nothing more than the mundane view outside the balcony of my elementary school classroom, its murky waters and sparsely populated riverbanks shaping my most primal impression. Though revered as Hsinchu's mother river, it felt more like a long-lost mother and child who knew nothing about each other.
In mid-September, I was fortunate to participate in an outdoor teaching event of the design thinking course on sustainable environmental governance led by Professor Zhou Xiuzhu and Professor Chen Junming at National Tsing Hua University: traversing the Touqian River, allowing me to rediscover this mother river that nurtures the people of Hsinchu.
Wearing an orange life jacket, properly fitting river shoes, and dark gray fabric gloves to protect against sharp stones and soft mud on the riverbed, nearly twenty students from National Tsing Hua University set off from the old port island, following the footsteps of Wang Zhiren, the project manager of the Zhuchan Community University’s island harbor team, and soundscape artist Lin Yanling. They stepped into the riverbed of the Touqian River, feeling the pulse of the mother river’s flow.
From a distance, the Touqian River observed from the levee appeared to be nothing more than silent flowing water accompanied by rippling surface patterns, seemingly unremarkable. However, with each step I took onto the sandy riverbank, I truly felt the vitality of this mother river. Looking down at the soft mud beneath my feet, I was surprised to find that the chocolate-colored muddy surface was dotted with many small holes, from which lively white fiddler crabs occasionally darted out, resembling numerous little white dots moving in order along the riverbed.
With each step, I could feel my ankles gradually being enveloped by the mud, trying to maintain my balance with every advancing footstep. As I approached the Touqian River ahead, the holes in the sandy shore released powerful jets of water due to the pressure of our footprints, surprising and delighting us, as if the mother river was welcoming long-lost children.
Near the end of the sandy bank lay the Touqian River, which I had seen grow up beside. The river flowed silently, with delicate white ripples interfering and drifting across the water's surface, presenting a light celadon hue, as if through the washing of history, the Touqian River had settled into the calmness and ordinariness of being a river, leaving behind a plain celadon sheen that had become the default urban background for Hsinchu residents. I carefully took a big step forward with my left foot, stepping into the unceasing flow of the mother river, and a voice inside me shouted loudly: “I am really here at the Touqian River!”
The current of the Touqian River was actually faster than I had imagined, my calves submerged in the water felt the rush of flowing water passing by, seemingly contradicting my initial impression of the river as calm and taciturn, brimming with the vitality and rhythm that runs through the entire Hsinchu city, flowing from distant mountains all the way to the river mouth outside the old port island.
We moved toward the opposite shore, and with each step forward, we startled the mudskippers and loaches hidden beneath the water, which suddenly leaped up from the surface and fell back down, creating ripples that resonated with delight and awe among us. I attempted to maneuver my feet under the water across the riverbed; aside from observing the celadon exterior of the water with my eyes, I could only feel the hidden secrets below the opaque surface through touch—be it the temperature and speed of the water or the undulations of the riverbed, all needed to be experienced thoughtfully to glimpse the true visage of the Touqian River.
In an instant, we arrived at the center of the river, where the water reached knee height. Looking back, we were only about several meters away from the sandy bank where we had first entered the water, while the distant old port bridge and the piers of Provincial Highway 15 were busy with the unending flow of cars. At this moment, Professor Wang Zhiren asked everyone to pause, open our senses, and remain silent for three minutes to feel the flow of the Touqian River at that moment.
I removed my fabric gloves and reached into the water surface of the Touqian River, trying to remember the instant the water flowed over my fingertips. To me, the Touqian River at this moment was no longer just a vague label on a map, but a vividly real mother river. As the sea breeze gently blew, I felt a calming serenity wash over me, my mind and body immersed in the flow of the river.
“Does river resilience mean avoiding any disasters? Or does it refer to the ability to quickly recover when disasters occur?” Standing in the waters of the Touqian River, that short question echoed in my mind. After personally feeling the pulse of the river, it seemed like I had found an answer. The sedimentation in the harbor, the floods during the rainy season, the inundations caused by typhoons, and the drought that exposes the riverbed in winter—these phenomena labeled as disasters are, in fact, the regular patterns of this mother river since ancient times. No matter when you visit the Touqian River, she will always reveal her truest aspect before us. For those of us who depend on the river for our lives, what we can do is minimize the impact of disasters and allow the river to naturally restore itself over time.
However, maintaining a resilient river does not come without costs; it requires public attention and action on river issues.
Looking back at the whole day of field trips, I was fortunate to interact with many river protectors who rolled up their sleeves to take action: Ms. Hsieh Huiping, the fifth generation of Wanchang Shipyard, founded the Fengdong Zhuqian Cultural Association to preserve the local fishing port's culture and history in South Liao, shipbuilding crafts, and planned the shipyard site and several tons of wooden ship models as a museum, allowing people to better understand the historical development of shipbuilding in Touqian River and Zhuqian Port.
Wang Zhiren and his team at the Island Harbor Rich Nest through organizing river crossing events and planning cultural events and community university courses on the old port island have integrated river conservation issues with local revitalization, enabling the public to better understand the ecological area around the old port island and the river mouth of Touqian.
Every time I heard these river protectors passionately explaining the ecology of the Touqian River and the development context of the local community, I could always feel their love and dedication to the river from their enthusiastic tones. Their stories seemed to awaken me: only through understanding can there be caring; only through caring can there be action; only through action can there be a sustainable and resilient mother river—Touqian.
As the river water flows, the dusk gradually descends on the far horizon’s sea level, and we too stepped onto the opposite bank of the river. During the crossing of the Touqian River, I not only experienced the flourishing vitality and tranquility of the river but also witnessed the heavy realities of urban development: in just ten short years, the previously located Beiliao Islet alongside the old port island has been leveled and filled in to make way for the South Liao Fishing Port Interchange of National Highway 68. The sandy areas beside the levees occasionally encountered small ditches, discharging household wastewater indiscriminately from nearby residences.
How exactly should we protect our mother river?
I believe the simplest first step is to get closer to the Touqian River. Whether it is cycling along the riverbank for leisure or actively participating in crossing the Touqian River events, when we regard the Touqian River as a part of our lives, we will naturally start to care about her ecological conservation and drinking water issues. Even discussing recent happenings about the Touqian River with friends and family can create a ripple effect, raising public awareness and attention for the protection of the mother river, thereby fostering a sustainable and resilient Touqian River.