Clifton Evers is an Australian surfer living in China. Presently he lives near Shanghai which puts him in easy reach of the East China Sea and its intermittently swell-drenched shores. He recently visited southern Taiwan where, as in all of his trips, he drew the attention of the local grommets:

I am in southern Taiwan. I am checking out a lefthand pointbreak, one of dozens in this area. This particular wave is a polished jewel amongst the other gems.

A couple of local grommets, Rory MacDonald (Taiwanese name: Pan Hai Hsih) and Chang Fu Cheng, turn up. It's their favourite wave. They're still working it out, though. In a few years they'll know it like the back of their hands and be comfortable surfing it at size.

The groms chatter about how when they surf here they can hear the rocks and pebbles moving under the water. "It sounds like something is breaking", says Rory.

Chang interjects, "I think it sounds like it wants to eat you".

Nervous laughter.

The ledge at the top of the boulder-strewn point is unsurfable, doubling up and quickly spinning off. The wave eases up though, just for a moment. A very short moment. This is the entry point. The wave then proceeds to bend back in on itself as it wraps down the point. It's like a reverse Angourie. The inside ledge is the honey pot. An intense barrel that spins back in on itself and the foamball is right on your tail. Sometimes the lip will reach out so far as to crash directly onto the boulders. When you exit the pit you breathe out in relief or wipe the blood away from your body. It's all good.

The groms know it. Rory and Gung wax up and get out there. Two grommets in their own surfing wonderland with not another surfer within miles. I go out and drop-in on them a couple of times, just to keep them honest.

Out in the lineup Rory asks, "Is the storm a typhoon yet?"

"Just a tropical depression," replies Gung.

The reason for Rory's question is that when typhoons get too close to Taiwan a 24-48 hour warning is issued from the weather bureau in Taipei, a long way from the surf. Their minions, men in orange, scour the coast making sure no-one is in the sea during such time.

Rory's dad Neil has helped set up TORSA - Taiwan Ocean Recreation Sports Association - to lobby and educate the policy makers, weather bureau and coastguard about surfing. They also handle beach clean-ups and make sure the surf schools are safe for the many tourists learning to surf.

At the current time though, if you are in the sea during a warning the minions will furiously blow their whistle. You can ignore one of them for a while. Soon a small group will gather. If this doesn't get you to come in the police or army may turn up and it could go all go pear-shaped by way of a hefty fine.

Many Taiwanese view the sea with suspicion and fear. Mind you, it's a fear not shared by all Taiwanese. The indigenous Tao people, who live on a small island nearby called Pongso no tao (it means "an island of people") do not view the land as the centre of the world, the sea surrounding it is. They consider themselves part of the sea and have a rich maritime tradition.

Rory, Gung and I go exploring the coast for more waves. There's plenty even they don't even know about yet.

Mud tracks. Thick scrub. Creeks. Late afternoon. Working out which street we turned down last time. Getting lost.

Lost.

After a number of phone calls to Neil and we find our way to a small hostel, the Taiwan Surf Shack. It's run by Terry, a long-term expat Canadian surfer, and his local wife Ee. Terry pioneered a lot of breaks around Taiwan. He's a respectful host. He runs day-long surf trips out of the hostel but also leaves some mystery in the mix to reward those willing to set out on their own.

At the shack Rory and Chang show me a collection of magazines with recent articles on surfing Taiwan. Neil and Terry would like Rory and Gung to be featured in the magazines one day and to maybe have the opportunity to represent Taiwan in surfing competitions. The international surfing media is celebrating the surf in Taiwan. Reefbreaks, pointbreaks, rivermouths, beachbreaks, and breakwalls. Tick all the boxes. Taiwan is being sold as a surfing nirvana, with sunshine and plentiful waves on the whole island.

It's true. Well, sort of...

The whole island does have surf. The north and east coast are most consistent during the northern hemisphere winter when the Pacific Ocean serves up north swells. The south and west coast predominantly rely on typhoons and tropical depressions off the northern Philippines and in the South China Sea between June and October. These swells tend to be short-lived.

But here's the rub, take the media publicity about Taiwan and surfing with a grain of salt. Taiwan can be inconsistent. When swell arrives it tends to come up quick and leave quick. To score good waves strike missions are the go, when the weather maps look promising. Or be willing to sit around and wait. There's plenty of bars to slump over while waiting. Don't come here expecting to score like people expect when traveling to Indo.

There's also the burgeoning surf scene in Taiwan. This means some breaks are already crowded. In some locales surf schools and surf shops are becoming thick in the sea and on the ground.

That said, when the surf does arrive it can get epic. Spots are still being worked out and found. There is still room for discovery. At the moment, many locals don't surf when the waves get over head high, or if they break too close to the rocks, or the reef is too shallow. Note though, this hesitancy is rapidly changing judging by the skills Rory and Gung are exhibiting. Their bottom turns are deep and they have a flair to threading the barrel. Rory also doesn't mind boosting over a few shallow sections either.

The next day the swell is still building. I head off to explore on my hired motorbike. The bikes here don't have surfboard racks like in Bali. It isn't easy holding my 6'3 pintail in one arm while dodging erratic drivers who think reversing down a highway is reasonable. The rain and howling offshore wind from the tropical depression don't help.

After a long scout I bumble my way down the umpteenth track. It ends at the top of a cliff. The Taiwanese coast is where mountains meet the sea. A collapsed World War Two-style pillbox blocks my view of the lineup.

Such pillboxes are common along the Taiwanese coast. They were built in preparation for what was thought to be an imminent invasion by Chairman Mao and his communist cohort. Many Chinese nationalists who had been battling the communists retreated to this island in the Pacific Ocean. The Chinese continue to believe Taiwan is part of the motherland. Many Taiwanese, backed by the firepower of the US military and its strategic plans in Asia, disagree.

Indigenous groups find the posturing ridiculous. Nobody owns this land and the sea surrounding it. Humans are only ever meant to be caretakers. The pillbox sits upon land the Paiwan people have looked after for millennia. They never needed pillboxes.

I move to get a better view and spy a righthander peeling off down below. No-one is out. A set appears on the horizon. The first wave stands up but breaks onto exposed rocks. Too shallow? The next wave is bigger and breaks further out. It shuts down. The last wave of the set breaks even further out and goes square. As I race down to the shoreline I nearly lose control of the bike and bust my fins out on a fence as a gaggle of geese guarding the muddy track attack. What they are guarding it is anyone's guess. The wave?

The session is memorable. The wave is short, intense and hollow. I am nervous the whole time. Scratching over ones I should have turned and gone on. Bouncing off rocks where it didn't look like there were any. Pulling in too deep only to suffer two wave hold-downs. Finally, I am looking out from inside a thick barrel.

Sometime into the session Rory, Gung, Terry and Neil turn up in a battered old green van. They whistle from the shoreline, however this time it's not to get me to come in but to paddle for an approaching set. It turns out nobody has surfed this wave before and they let me enjoy the moment on my own.

(Photos Clif Evers & Terry Meysen. Click 'enlarge' to view)