[Fall in Love with Sailing with a Young Captain] Offshore Living — Sailing to Penghu Southern Four Islands National Park: Dongyu Ping

There is no doubt that Penghu Southern Four Islands National Park has been the most talked-about offshore diving destination in Taiwan in recent years. I've been seeing post after post from fellow divers checking in from the waters there — and yes, I'm envious. I haven't had the chance to explore the legendary dive sites beneath the Southern Four Islands myself, but when I think about it, maybe I've already done something even rarer and more worth bragging about than most?

Days at the Southern Four Islands

Slowly but surely, diving at the Southern Four Islands is becoming less of a novelty. But sailing there on a yacht, experiencing night navigation, gazing up at a sky full of open-ocean stars, dropping anchor in the brilliant blue bay of Dongyu Ping, staying aboard a premium leisure sailboat, savoring the simplicity of island life, standing at the highest point of Dongyu Ping and looking out over the open sea — I realized I am luckier than most.

After I finished my military service last year, I got a call from a sailing friend. "Ray, I've got a job for you. I'm not sure if you're interested, but the boat owner is looking for someone who can sail, dive, and do photography — and you're the only person who comes to mind. It's a trip to Penghu's Southern Four Islands. Are you in?" Just hearing the words "Southern Four Islands" was enough to make me tear up with excitement. Without even asking about the details of the trip or the pay, I said yes on the spot.

A few weeks later, the day of departure arrived. Buzzing with excitement and anticipation, I packed a car full of gear and drove south to the Anping Marina in Tainan. Before I even got out of the car, I spotted a tall mast rising from the dock — and I knew right away this was no ordinary sailboat. The vessel was a 50-foot leisure yacht called the Sense, made by Beneteau, the world's most prestigious French sailboat manufacturer. As you'd expect, the design was elegant and refined: a full teak deck that felt comfortable underfoot with every step, a spacious and bright cabin — and, to my genuine surprise, a karaoke system on board. I've operated quite a few boats in my time, but a KTV setup was a first.

I spent some time stowing my gear and settling into my crew quarters, then headed out with the captain and the boat's steward to a wholesale store to stock up on food and supplies for our working crew over the coming days. This is one of my favorite parts of preparing for any voyage. Before setting sail, you have to carefully calculate how much food and water each crew member will need and plan accordingly. Life aboard isn't about feasts — space is limited, and you don't want anyone going hungry or generating unnecessary waste. But the inevitable internal battle at the snack aisle of the wholesale store is always one of the most charming little rituals of any sailing trip. After the shopping run, we returned to the boat, held a pre-departure briefing for the next morning, and, since it was already late, turned in for the night.

The passage from Anping in Tainan to Dongyu Ping takes about 6 hours. Does that sound long? It really isn't. Throughout the voyage, we explain the basics of sailing to guests, let them raise the sails, haul on lines, and take the helm — giving them a taste of what it feels like to command a vessel. Since the departure time is early, some guests need a moment to find their sea legs, and once the excitement of leaving port settles, the drowsiness kicks in. With a gentle breeze blowing, the boat gradually grows quiet…

Returning to the Southern Four Islands — Dongyu Ping

Time flies — and there it was: Dongyu Ping! While our guests were wide-eyed and energized, we crew members were on high alert. Any island more than 30 nautical miles offshore typically sits in a strong current zone, pushed along by open-ocean tidal flow. As we prepared to enter the bay at Dongyu Ping, I could already feel a shift in the sea conditions — the water color changed, wave heights lurched dramatically up and down, and broken chop appeared all around. All of this told me this island was going to be formidable. Perhaps it is precisely because of these powerful currents that the underwater world of the Southern Four Islands is so breathtaking.

Fortunately, the captain and I worked in perfect sync. We cleared the high-alert zone without incident and made it to the anchoring bay we had planned for. A 50-foot boat with a deep keel means you start watching the bottom terrain the moment it comes into view — and at that point, the warning lights in my head started flashing again. I stood watch at the bow, calling out instructions to the captain at the stern, the two of us in constant communication until the anchor was set at a safe spot.

Anchoring is critical — it is both a skill and an art. You read the wind, read the waves, assess the underwater terrain to choose the right type of anchor, decide on the scope, and determine how much chain to let out. Because the seabed was almost entirely coral reef with only occasional sandy patches, there was absolutely no way I was going to set an anchor on coral. In the end, I waded into the water and walked the anchor by hand across dozens of meters to find a suitable spot — a moment I have never forgotten.

The coral beneath Dongyu Ping is dominated by Acropora and staghorn coral, a riot of colors set in sparkling clear water. For someone who makes their living in the north of Taiwan, seeing an underwater environment like this was genuinely stunning. And with a 50-foot sailboat stealing the show on the surface above, the scene looked like something out of a foreign destination — yet here I was, right in the middle of it.

Before evening fell, with safety in mind for entering the harbor after dark, we wrapped up our snorkeling session and slowly motored the boat into the Dongyu Ping harbor. The setting sun painted the sea surface gold, and everything felt impossibly romantic. That night, our guests headed up to the island to sleep at a local guesthouse, while we crew members bought a few small bottles of something from the island's general store after dinner and settled in for a quiet drink. With only a handful of households on the island, the night sky was virtually free of light pollution — stars blanketed the sky above. If it hadn't been for the mosquitoes, I would have seriously considered sleeping right there on the deck. To me, that would have been the ultimate romance.

At the crack of dawn I did a quick wash-up on the boat, taking the usual 30 minutes to let my soul wander before truly waking up. I sat at the bow with a blank mind, waiting for my spirit to drift back to my body. Then I strapped on my gear — long fins (freediving), mask, GoPro, DJI — and headed out to explore the island's hidden corners.

Dongyu Ping reportedly has a total population of just 15 people. Most of the houses on the island stand empty, and the stone-walled vegetable gardens built into the hillsides look uncannily like Machu Picchu. I climbed up to the highest point on Dongyu Ping, and with my drone I could see even further — the currents around the island are fierce, but the waters between Dongyu Ping and Xiyu Ping are impossibly clear. A Japanese girl who had come along on the trip said it reminded her of Okinawa: white sand, coral, and blue sea.

The coral coverage on the bay floor is staggeringly high. Xiyu Ping is not far from Dongyu Ping, but I've heard its population is only 5. It wasn't on our itinerary this time — a slight shame — but there will be another chance to explore it next time.

On the other side of Dongyu Ping's harbor there is a natural tidal pool that didn't interest me much at first — until my friend shouted from the water, "Lavender forest!" I thought, really? Are you just trying to trick me into getting in and taking photos for you?! But the moment I slipped in, I was greeted by an enormous field of staghorn coral — a thick, sweeping lavender forest in every direction. Before climbing back out, I also encountered a whole family of Clownfish (Nemo), their adorable antics drawing squeals from the female guests.

As we prepared to leave the harbor, the owner of the guesthouse where our guests had stayed came cycling down to the dock to see us off, carrying a large bag of cactus ice cream for everyone to cool down with. We ran through all the boat checks, confirmed everything was in order, cast off the lines, and said goodbye to Dongyu Ping — promising to return. On the way back, you could see the guests were reluctant to leave. But once they had settled into the motion of the boat, the floating karaoke lounge officially opened for business. It turned out everyone had been saving their energy on the way out — they sang all the way back until we docked at Anping Marina.

Last year I fell for Dongyu Ping and the Southern Four Islands. Life on a small island always takes me back to those carefree days of working-holiday exchanges in Ishigaki, Okinawa in 2015 — the human stories written into the land, and the marine life thriving beneath the surface, are the kinds of things I can never quite leave behind. This summer, I will absolutely be returning to the Southern Four Islands — and this time I'll be exploring the other islands: Xiyu Ping, Dongji Yu, and Xiji Yu. Stay tuned, or better yet — let's meet out on the open ocean!

Related links:

• OFFSHORE LIFE STUDIO 離岸生活工作室

• OFFSHORE Life Studio — A Romantic Sailing Trip in Keelung

• [Fall in Love with Sailing with a Young Captain] Sailing — What Is a Sailboat?

• [Fall in Love with Sailing with a Young Captain] Rediscovering Taiwan from the Deck — Northeast Coast (Part 1)