Hong Kong Travels: Kayaking in Sai Kung

When traveling through the New Territories, it's difficult to see what value there was to the British. The majestic landscapes and archipelagos, captivating wildlife, blankets of greens stretching on forever are a delight to explore. But to gain so much land and concession to use it for nothing obvious is an interesting decision. But with one quick search you can discover it was to counter other European interests in the region. So, it was simply a case of preferring others not to have it. But the consequence of this seems to be, on the east coast at least, that there was little investment from the colonial power. Crossing through towns with sun bleached banners and restaurants advertising beer battered fish and chips, you could feel the lingering ghostly presence of a bygone era. 

At the same time, there are subtle signs of that transference to the new era. Passing by a provincial building at a red light, I saw it had three flag poles on the roof. Two were empty, but the middle one held a tattered, washed-out Chinese flag. I could imagine the moment the other flags were lowered, perhaps three of them, Then the Chinese flag replacing them or keeping its position, though it seemed no one cared enough to switch it out for a newer one. A superficial token of support, or pure neglect? Hard to say for certain. 

It was not my first time in Sai Kung. Twice I had left from there for a junk party, hedonistic affairs with far too much alcohol, and paddle boarding to other junks to ask for even more alcohol. This time I would only be meeting Martin, a friend from the dance community. In the meantime, I could explore a small amount of the town.  

The wall art was unexpected. Understated compared to the ubiquitous HK Walls offerings of my area, but nonetheless quite sweet. It added an element of personality to the seaside town which otherwise always had an eye to the sea. This is clear even from where the buses stop. The walk from there to the waterfront can be under 30 seconds if you jogged lightly. You are not encouraged to see what Sai Kung has to offer. It may have a rich and interesting history or have an incredible food culture or art galleries. The town planning, however, does not afford any time for the town itself. Considering the view out to the water, or back across the town towards the great green mountains, you could be forgiven for falling into a similar trap. 

Once Martin had arrived, we set off. The tide was high up the beach in the morning. Some of the kayaks, though pulled up as far as possible, were still sunk by the water. There were several kayak vendors, and you could easily tell which cared more for their fleet. The ones left in the water had gross thick algae smeared across their undersides. A large group of school children were on the beach where we rented our kayaks, and a lady in a swimsuit was posing for photos she took by herself. The owners of the shop said she was there almost daily, every morning, taking photos of herself, with an air of people who had lost interest in a local quirk and largely overlooked it. 

There was no shortage of islands for potential investigation, but that needed us to navigate the myriad sized and shaped ships moored not far off the beach. I wondered how often they were used. None of them had moved by the end of the day. 

The experience was grounding, ironically. It's quite fantastic how quickly you can forget about the noise and stress of Hong Kong proper by driving an hour or so into the New Territories and setting out across the water. Aside from our own chatter and the occasional motorboats or ferry, the only noises were the birds and the waves bumping into the kayaks. 

 We stopped at several beaches, and we noticed that rubbish was omnipresent on the ones facing the mainland. We had to watch our steps in case of rusty spikes or sharp cracked glass. They were also surprisingly rocky in places. On the other hand, where the beaches faced away, the sand was soft and warm, and aside from destroyed concrete, jetties were free from serious pollutants. There were thousands of shells, most already weathered into tiny parts, and white bait were numerous and motionless. 

We decided to go around Sharp Island, the largest island closest to our starting point. There were a few interesting sites. A jet skier had a corgi riding with him. Kites swept low and glided into the mountains. People paused in their boats to take photos of us. Most surprisingly, we found a fridge that had been dumped so far away from anywhere convenient that it was astounding someone had gone to such an extent to get rid of it. It was in the bushes on a promontory on the opposite side from the land and would have had to have been carried across a half-covered rocky walkway.  

But we were mostly interested in the natural aspects. We decided that, with two hours to spare before we needed to return the kayaks, we would round the island and return from the other side. 

The water was more open there. The waves were larger, those still far from dangerous. I wondered aloud if there was anything preventing us from simply paddling out into the open ocean or all the way back to Victoria Harbour. Common sense seemed to be the answer. When we reached Elephant Trunk Cave, the water was thick with seaweed. Some black herons flew low across the water, nevertheless, and kites glided above in lazy circles. There was nothing obvious to me to suggest an elephant's trunk, but the slowly sloping line breaks between rock layers were pleasant to look at.  

After rounding the southern tip, we picked up the pace with only 90 minutes before we would be late. We paddled with purpose. The ligaments in my forearm were increasingly sore, the heat was becoming intense, and my water had run out. The only respite was the cooler sea underneath, which was a relief for my sunburnt toes. Neither of us went swimming during the entire trip. 

We began to see golf courses running along the low cliffs and isolated houses that peered out over the bay from their islands. While the noise was still of wind and waves, we could expect the return to civilisation.  

Then, finally, mercifully, the end was in sight. It felt a lifetime away, but we could see Sai Kung again. Together we picked out which part of the shoreline was where we had set out from and adjusted as we got closer. It was low tide now, and rocks that had shrunk away now stood up straight, covered in barnacles. The closer we were, the less heed I gave to Martin and the faster I paddled to shore. Soon I had passed the boats too, and finally I sprinted to the edge of the beach, still a distance from the kayak rental further up. The ecstasy of finishing any intense exercise is great, but being able to stretch your legs after being in a too small kayak all day is greater. Martin was not too far behind, so I was able to cheer him into shore. So ended our day on the water.  

While less can be said for Sai Kung itself as it was not the focus of the day, the surroundings are fully justified in their popularity. I wish I had spent more time investigating the town too, but for a full day on the water with a friend, it was well worth the sacrifice. And if history is anything to go by, it will not be my last time to see the sights.