2025 Vol 03 Taitung Times

Taitung’s offshore islands—Orchid Island (Lanyu) and Green Island—are shaped as much by their geographic seclusion as by their raw beauty. Their subtropical maritime climates are characterized by intense sunlight, constant sea breezes, humidity, and the seasonal threat of typhoons. Historically, transportation to and from these islands was irregular and weather-dependent, making reliance on fresh imports impractical. The Tao of Lanyu rarely interacted with the Indigenous of Taiwan Island prior to colonisation due to the dangerous Kuroshio Current and the 64km separating the two pieces of land—hence their distinct culture of loincloths, silver ceremonial helmets, hair-swiping dance, underground housing and intricate plank boats.

In such isolated environments, people turned to the resources around them—salt-laden air, heat, wind, and indigenous knowledge—to extend the life of their seasonal harvests. Preservation became not only a means of survival but a way to make the most of what the ocean and land provided. It is from this crucible of climate and constraint that some of Taitung’s most iconic preservation methods emerged—ranging from air-drying and sun-curing to fermentation and salt pickling—each deeply embedded in the rhythm of island life and local identity.  

On Orchid Island, the Tao people developed a distinct cultural identity and way of life, closely aligned with the sea and the seasons and constrained by the limited resources of the 45 square kilometer island. The island climate not only influences the rhythm of life, but necessitates resilient living, playing an essential role in food preservation. At the heart of Tao culture are flying fish, or libangbang in the Tao language—meaning “gift of heaven”—which have become a symbol of cultural identity and environmental harmony for the Tao.

Each year from March to June, the Kuroshio Current delivers schools of flying fish to the island’s shores, signaling the start of the Tao’s fishing season and the beginning of a rich ritual calendar. Strict communal codes help prevent overfishing—only mature fish are taken, only at night, only during season and only by all-male crews—rules that promote sustainability and cultural continuity. Once caught, the fish are cleaned, salted, butterflied (split and splayed) and hung from bamboo racks or eaves to dry over days and weeks in the open air, often alternating with smoking at night for a layered chewy yellowish finish. The islands exposure to intense sun and constant winds further desiccate the fish, keeping them edible for many months, to be consumed throughout the year until the Kalimann festival marks the season’s end.

Today, with refrigeration, dried fish can last even longer, but traditional methods persist as expressions of identity and resilience. For the Tao, survival is not merely physical but cultural—rooted in restraint, ritual, and reverence for nature’s cycles. The dehydrated flying fish can later be boiled, regaining a firm texture, to be served as a separate dish on a special wooden tray. Because the flesh shrinks from the bones during drying, once rehydrated, the bones detach effortlessly. Any leftovers can be turned into a spicy stir-fry with chili, ginger, soy sauce, and garlic, or incorporated with vegetables and meat into a dried flying fish stew. In fact, adding just a few pieces of the fish to any stew or stir-fry enhances and infuses it with an unmistakable ocean aroma.

On neighboring Green Island, residents developed a similarly resourceful approach. Here, giant octopuses are cleaned, stretched, and strung up along bamboo poles so they “fly” like kites—swaying high in the salty wind and blazing sun.

The climate plays an active role: the sea breeze moderates the humidity, while salt in the air seasons and preserves. Immediate and intense solar exposure allows for rapid surface drying, which caramelizes the outer layer and locks in flavor. The result is a chewy, tangy, umami-rich delicacy with a deep brown hue. These dried octopuses become storable ingredients that enrich local dishes such as fish zongzi (rice dumplings), stir-fries, soups, and congee.

This drying technique has spread to Chenggong, where locals dry octopus in their home gardens in the summer. During the COVID-19 pandemic, when fresh seafood sales faltered, drying octopus into “kites” provided a fallback and bank of resilience—allowing households to transport or store their catch for years and eventually sell each kite for up to NT$2,000. This practice became an economic buffer for Chenggong, a township whose economy depends heavily on the fishing industry. Much like the flying fish of Lanyu, these octopus kites are both a cultural symbol and a testament to environmental adaptation and resilience.

Back across the Kuroshio Current on mainland Taitung, where breezes and sunlight vary more widely, the Changbin Amis have adapted by smoking their flying fish instead of simply sun-drying them. The freshly caught fish are first soaked in saltwater and rice wine, then smoked over a carefully balanced blend of semi-moist and dry acacia and macaranga wood. The moisture in the wood produces gentle smoke rather than intense flames, preserving the fish while preventing charring. Unlike the sun-dried flying fish of Lanyu, this smoked version retains a slight moisture and firm texture, reminiscent of Japanese-style ichiyaboshi.

While the Tao use ornate plank boats, the Amis traditionally crafted simple rafts from the region’s plentiful bamboo. While recent Taitung County Government-led efforts have sought to revive maritime traditions of canoe-building and navigation, Amis boat-building culture had largely vanished due to decades of national government and military restrictions and they had adopted contemporary fishing boats. However, coastal Amis preserved their traditions centered on intertidal foraging—harvesting along shallow reefs and casting nets at river mouths—to gather shellfish, seaweed, crabs, urchins and river shrimp. These communities didn’t only salt and ferment meats and vegetables like siraw pork or fukah bamboo shoots but also preserved sea snails, chitons and other shoreline bounty in glass jars that lined their homes—tiny repositories of cultural flavor and knowledge.

For instance, A’lem (醃石鱉)—salt-pickled chitons—are marine mollusks with a tough armored shell, earning them the nickname “ironclad warriors.” These are purely pickled, not fermented, and offer a concentrated taste of the sea, often served alongside strong alcoholic drinks. Making sure nothing goes to waste, Anato (醃魚鮮) is salt-pickled and fermented fish offals whose deep, pungent flavor is prized by some chefs. Jars of these preserved seafoods can be found in markets and small street stands in tribal villages along the Donghe and Chenggong coastlines and are being creatively fusioned into a variety of indigenous-inspired cuisine. For example at the Yi-Geng Canteen (一耕食堂) in Changbin, which specialises in reimagining heritage Amis foods for contemporary tables, the chef transforms the Anato into a rich sauce with olive oil and garlic, like a Taitung take on anchovy paste and then mixes it with stir-fried vegetables, imbuing the dish with ocean flavor and inviting foodies on a culinary journey enriched through Amis stories.

In recent years, shoreline harvesting—once a quiet tradition practiced by coastal Amis families—has returned to the stage in Taitung’s cultural and culinary revival. Supported by the Taitung County Government and the Slow Food movement, these practices are being celebrated not only as sustainable foodways but also as living knowledge systems. At the 2025 Spring Slow Food Festival in Chenggong, the spotlight turned to the micekew techniques of Amis Ina (aunties), who gather shellfish and seaweed from the undersides of rocks guided by moonlight and the tides—an act both precise and poetic.

Complementing this cultural resurgence are efforts in documentation and conservation. Books like The Ocean Book of Torik (都歷的海事) have captured the ecological wisdom of the Chenggong Amis, while the government’s creation of the Fushan Fisheries Conservation Area—where human activity is limited to promote marine recovery—reflects a commitment to environmental stewardship in line with Austronesian resilience and values. Meanwhile, on Orchid Island, author Syaman Rapongan has spent decades chronicling the spiritual and cultural centrality of flying fish in Tao life. Every year, thousands of photos showing these fish drying in the sun are shared online, serving as digital testaments to the continued vitality of Tao traditions in an era of globalization.

For the people of Taitung, food preservation is more than a means of survival—it’s a way of living in balance with nature. Traditional methods such as air drying, salting, and seasonally timed harvesting reflect an ecological ethic rooted in restraint, adaptability, and respect for natural cycles. These practices go beyond culinary heritage; they are expressions of environmental wisdom and climate resilience embedded in intricate cultural codes.

Through time-honored techniques transforming perishable ingredients into lasting staples, communities maintain harmony with the ocean and nature while keeping cultural traditions alive—essential foundations and lessons for surviving and thriving in an era of rapid global change.

Having explored the rituals, codes, and techniques that preserve the fruits of the ocean, the next issue of Taitung Times turns inland—to the fragrant orchards and fertile slopes where Taitung’s treasured fruits grow. With a bounty of fascinating fruits like sugar apples, pineapples, mangoes, and loquats, we’ll discover how Taitungers preserve these fruits as jams, dried tangy snacks, vinegars and fruity wines, to keep the county bursting with joy and sweetness all year around.