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When the Japanese introduced pigeon racing to Taiwan early last century, they probably had no idea what an impression it would make. This curious combination of sport, gambling, and animal husbandry was an instant hit - it seized the hearts and minds of the people in Taiwan, and it never let go.

The pigeons eat birdseed and grit, but the racing itself is fueled by cash. “Money is what makes pigeon racing so popular,” says Tsai Tung-bao, president of the Chinese Taipei Racing Pigeon Association. “If you get lucky, you can make a lot of money, and that’s why Taiwanese are so crazy about pigeon races.”

The stakes are the highest in the world: prize money for Taiwan’s biggest races can reach US$3 million, and any bird that does well in a seven-race season is automatically worth more than US$20,000. The sport also has a Confucian ethic: some pigeon pedigrees are longer than the sage’s beard. More than 30,000 Taiwanese race pigeons, and another 50,000 are involved in raising or training the birds.

Europeans, who have been racing pigeons for centuries, are fascinated by the twists and turns of Taiwan pigeonry. Taiwanese regularly attend European auctions and buy the best birds, sometimes for US$50,000 or more. Tsai once gave a speech to a pigeon club in England, and was treated to a standing ovation. The Brits were delighted to find bird-racing brethren on a distant island, and they all wanted to know why Taiwanese are so enthusiastic about pigeons. “In Europe and the West, pigeon racing is a relaxing hobby,” says Tsai. “Here, it’s different.”

It certainly is. In Taiwan, racers burn joss sticks in local temples and pray for good race results. They feed the pigeons tea, honey, Chinese herbs, and steroids. They build pigeon coops on rooftops and rice fields, and they gaze deeply into the little red eyes of the pint-sized birds. This is Taiwan’s unique contribution to global pigeon racing: eye reading. Tsai’s wall is covered with pictures of pigeon eyes, and if you look at any racing magazine, rows of red pigeon eyes look back at you.

By examining a pigeon’s eye, a fancier can tell if a bird is suited for short or long races, if it can race in bad weather, if it has good bloodlines, and even if it’s smart or healthy. “Look for a rich or special colour - that’s a good pigeon,” says David Lin, publisher of Racing Pigeon Sports Magazine, a monthly pigeon journal that is thick as a phone book. Even European fanciers are now gazing into the eyes of their pigeons, with magnifying glasses, like Sherlock Holmes. Not everyone in Taiwan believes in the mystical art of eye reading. Steven Cheng, manager of a Taipei-based association called Acepigeon International, is more pragmatic: “Some people say you can see money inside the eye of a pigeon,” he says. “But I say, any pigeon that wins a race is a good pigeon.”

As Cheng notes, pigeons are measured by a simple yardstick: race results. It’s a strict meritocracy. The birds all start at the same level, and as fledglings they are treated like kings, well fed and carefully tended. They are given vitamins, food supplements, and regular exercise, and they live in comfortable coops. Then, at five months of age, the life of luxury comes to a crashing halt, when the little racers are taken out to sea and set loose hundreds of kilometres from home.

That’s when the life of a racing pigeon gets exciting. Storms throw them off course, often diverting them to China or the Philippines. Thieves throw up nets to snare the little aviators and hold them for ransom. Dishonest owners set up multiple coops, confusing them, and hawks and other predators hunt them down. Airplanes take their toll as well: in 1998, a wayward pigeon brought down one of Taiwan’s US$50 million Mirage 2000 fighter jets. The Mirage crashed into the sea after a pigeon, and its metal leg band, were sucked into the engine. Both pilots survived, but the pigeon did not.

A handsome reward awaits the lucky winners. Battle-hardened birds that survive a single seven-week season never compete again. They become breeders, enjoying early retirement and the proverbial 72 virgins. Now that’s a sinecure: race seven times, and eat grain and breed for another 20 years, the average lifespan of a pigeon.

Yet only a fortunate few survive, let alone win. It takes four to seven hours to fly a 200-kilometre race, and some races stretch to 350km. Thousands of birds are released, and in bad weather, about half come back. Of 200,000 pigeons that begin training, just 200 tough racers remain at the end of a normal seven-race season. In one memorable sea race, only two bedraggled birds made it home: the now-immortal Xing Xing and Fu Xing. “The rest got lost, and flew away,” says Tsai. Flew where? “Maybe the Philippines, maybe China, I really don’t know,” he says.

The big money, the gambling, and a lack of regulation have caused many gangsters and crooks to become involved in pigeon racing in Taiwan. “There’s a lot of pressure,” says Tsai. “And I would say it’s getting worse.” Sometimes losers don’t pay. Sometimes racers cheat. And sometimes, bookies disappear with the money, although Tsai scoffs at a recent article that says NT$1 billion (US$30 million) was stolen at a recent race. “NT$100 million, maybe, but not a billion,” he says.

Most pigeon racers take a tolerant view of the cheating. “If there’s money involved, there’s going to be cheating, just like Las Vegas,” says Cheng. “Money that big makes people very smart.” A pigeon owner’s task, as they see it, is to outsmart the cheaters.

The most common scam is the “A loft/B loft” trick, in which birds are trained to fly to an alternate loft. From there, they are whisked to the finish line, often aboard commercial flights. In response, racers began to release the birds at sea. They also hold multiple races from different locations, and they only race young birds, which can’t easily be trained to land at alternate lofts.

Another trick is to starve the birds. During cross-island races, a strong pigeon will take the longer southern route, while a weak or hungry bird will choose the shorter northern route. This scam is also avoided by multiple races: to be truly valuable, and to qualify for big prizes, a bird must compete well in at least five races, not just one.

Then there are the nets, giant bird-trapping devices hundreds of metres long and 50 metres high, which are stretched across the rivers and valleys of Taiwan. These are used by gangsters to trap the low-flying birds, which are then ransomed back to the owners. This scam has been alleviated by the use of computer-coded leg bands that don’t include phone numbers. The gangsters have a pigeon, but they don’t know who to call.

Cheng downplays the gambling. Pigeon-racing in Taiwan, he says, is becoming a business. People buy famous pigeons from Europe, and sell the offspring. Cheng himself is the owner of Fly Dragon, son of legendary Belgian hen Sissi, one of the most famous pigeons of all time. Like a proud parent, Cheng shows me Fly Dragon’s pedigree, a complex chart with heredity, race results, birthdates, and other information.

The Kaohsiung-based Chinese Taipei Pigeon Racing Association also does brisk business: it issues about 600,000 leg rings per year at an average cost of US$85 per ring. It is the biggest pigeon association in Taiwan, and it operates the island’s biggest pigeon coop, which Mr. Tsai reluctantly agrees to let me visit. “But don’t disturb the birds,” he says, several times. He makes it clear: writers are less important than pigeons.

The association coop is Taiwan’s top pigeon hotel, a huge birdhouse a block long and three storeys high. The US$300,000 building has automatic food and water dispensers, a pigeon nursery, multi-coloured landing ramps, and closed-circuit cameras. It sits among the shrimp-farming pools north of Tainan, in a field of its own, free of electric wires, far from houses, and wafted by a cool breeze, just the way the birds like it. “Pigeons like the view,” says Tsai, explaining the choice location.

The pigeons sit in their ventilated lofts, cooing softly and rustling their feathers. Then Tsai opens the door, and sets them loose. Pumping their short wings, they head skyward, a remarkable multi-coloured flock with angular wings and agile tails. They fly fast, in wide circles, apparently enjoying themselves.

In the coop, all pigeons look the same, but in the air the differences are obvious. Some of the fledglings take the lead and fly with confidence, others lag in confused groups and flutter about. A few even crash-land in the nearby fields - an early end to their racing careers.

At the end of the day, all pigeon-racing careers are short, and all pigeon fame is fleeting. Even Fly Dragon’s celebrity will fade as time marches on. But in the world of Taiwan pigeon racing, new legends are constantly created. The island has thousands of local races, and some of them feature up to 12,000 birds. “Every day is racing day, and every season is racing season,” says Cheng.

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