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It was easy to see why Cheung Chau's most notorious pirate had chosen this spot as a hiding place for his loot. The cave is pitch black, concealed by a jumble of boulders, and the entrance is barely large enough to squeeze through.

 In fact I was firmly wedged in it, my legs dangling over a four-metre drop to its dank floor. I struggled to take the offending camera bag off my back, thrust it in front of me and twisted to peer behind, torch in hand.

 No, I would surely break a leg attempting that drop. I hauled myself back through the opening. It was a bit like drawing a cork from a wine bottle.

 Wrong opening. There was a crevice to my left which I had not noticed, very narrow, but once inside my feet felt the rungs of an old iron ladder.

 At floor level, Cheung Po-tsai's cave is less than two metres wide, but it is about 12 metres deep, and well above the high tide line: ideal for hoarding.

 At the far end there is another narrow opening in the roof, even tighter than the entrance, and with the help of another ladder I forced my way through it and back into the sunshine.

 In Cheung Po-tsai's days, it would have been an ordeal clambering over the boulders to reach the cavern, and of course you would not have been too popular with the pirates if you discovered it.

 These days, a concrete path leads to the chamber, part of a family trail that was completed in Cheung Chau in 1994.

 And if you have not taken a torch with you, Mr Law is your man. A light in our darkness, he has sat outside the cave for the past 20 years renting out torches so that we can play pirates for five minutes.

 At $10 a time, he must have hoarded quite a bit himself over the years, although he does say it can be quite slack on weekdays.

 'I don't hire my torches to fat people,' Mr Law confides. 'I warn them that it can be very difficult to get back out because it is so narrow.'  Very noble, and to prove that he is, Mr Law scampered off to fetch my cap as a strong gust whisked it away among the boulders.

 I thought I had already done the Cheung Chau thing. You know, getting off the ferry, walking around the narrow streets, and finishing off with a fish meal on the seafront.

 But this day I would learn there was much more to the island than I had thought, and it would become my favourite weekend walk so far.

 Cheung Chau is a dumbbell-shaped island, and all the activity takes place on the 'handle', the sandbar where most of its 50,000-plus population huddle together, looking out over the fishing fleet in the typhoon shelter.

 On this visit I turned right at the promenade after leaving the ferry from Hong Kong, and hired a kaido to take me to Sai Wan, a few minutes away. Five dollars each, and if you take your dog along, as I had, he pays the same.

 You could walk to Sai Wan of course, but it is nice weaving between the live-aboard fishing junks. The family trail starts here, and the Tin Hau temple, only two minutes walk from the jetty, is nicely situated, looking out over the typhoon shelter from a promontory.

 I did not stay long. Tin Hau was in demand this day, and my eyes were stinging from the joss sticks. The pirate cave is only a few minutes from here.

 The family trail does a loop back to the 'interior' after following the coast for a short distance, but you are snookered if the tide is in. There is no way across the beach then.

 From the cave, steep and narrow steps lead to the shoreline, cutting a way through massive boulders. Watch your head. Before the steps were built, it would have been suicidal trying to get down here. Very impressive.

 The tide was partly in, but I managed to clamber over some steep boulders and eventually re-joined the path. This was proving more like an endurance test than a walk: blinded by smoke, stuck in a cave, almost trapped by the tide. But it was good fun.

 It is interesting around here, with flowering cactus growing profusely among the boulders. The big daddy is the Reclining Boulder, which has to be seen to be believed. It is about five metres high, eight long, and must weigh hundreds of tonnes.

 Of course it has become a target for graffiti, but there is some neat, interesting calligraphy on each side, by a man who has obviously made a few mistakes in his life, and wants to pass on a warning. Roughly translated, his first poem says: A man who marries a poor woman who is willing to help him, can get rich. But if he takes a second wife, she may only be after his money and destroy everything.

 The second: It is nice to see a man climbing a hill with a dog, but the dog has only a short life. If he marries a good woman, they can walk the hills together for many more years.

 I walked on to the small, clean and remote sand of the Italian Beach. I did not meet any Italians, but I had a chat with a couple of passing Americans.

 The path now starts climbing away from the sea to Cheung Chau's main cemetery, sited here because it promises good fung shui, and then on, higher, to the meteorological station which offers wonderful views of Cheung Chau village and the fishing fleet.

 They are about to build a government housing estate and have erected a high fence which blocks out the view, but I happily continued my assault course by crawling through a hole in it, near the public toilet.

 Soon you will be descending towards the dumb-bell handle along Old Peak Road, home to the rich and poor. Architect-designed dwellings look down on huts.

 Near Pak Tso Wan beach there is another temple, devoted to General Kwan Tai, a symbol of righteousness, power and loyalty. Images of the general are found in police stations throughout the SAR. The image here was carved from a single piece of camphor wood and stands nearly three metres tall.

 Down into the village now, and the busy, narrow streets that give Cheung Chau so much character: fish and vegetable stalls, Chinese medicine shops, cafes, general stores, and on.

 I pass the ferry terminal again and make my way to the other end of the dumb-bell, stopping first at Pak Tai temple. The annual Bun Festival is held in the playground in front.

 Like the nearby Tin Hau temple - there are two on Cheung Chau - Pak Tai is a place where fishermen worship, hoping for safe voyages, saying thanks for ones just completed. It is more than 200 years old and has a beautifully carved, and brightly decorated roof.

 Inside there are some rather unusual relics, such as whalebones which were caught in nets, a sword plucked from the sea and estimated to be about 800 years old, and a sedan chair.

 The stone columns just inside the entrance are intricately carved. This is by far my favourite Cheung Chau temple, full of interest.

 I passed the workshops where men smeared in grease repaired boat engines, then the boat-building yard before following the family trail on the shoreline of the north end of the island.

 The steep Cheung Pak Road is a tough climb, but it leads to a shelter with the best view on the island, and one of the most memorable in Hong Kong. From here you have a panoramic view over to Hong Kong, Lamma and Lantau islands.

 Far below is the long crescent of Cheung Chau's Tung Wan beach, which looks more inviting up here than at sea level, the red and blue-roofed houses packed along the sandbar, and the fishing fleet cramming the harbour.

 I made my way steeply down the last section of the family trail which comes out on to Pak Tai again, past houses built into the hillside, wondering how people ever manage to get their furniture up here, for there are no cars in Cheung Chau, just emergency service vehicles, restricted to the shore-line.

 I was pleased with my timing, for the sun was about to set, and the sunset at Cheung Chau waterfront is worth the visit even if you come for that alone.

 And of course once the sun goes down, the sea-front restaurants come alive. A few years ago it was even better. The promenade was packed with stalls selling live seafood, but under protest they were cleared off the street and moved to the new concrete fish market.

 It is still great fun, though. Select your catch from one of the shops next to the restaurants. Take your live fish, prawns, scallops, crabs, whatever, to any of the restaurants, and they will cook them.

 They generally charge only $30 to steam a good-sized fish, and you can have a beer while you wait.

 After wandering the island for six hours, I was ready for one.



Stumbling upon treasures