Long and winding route

CROOKED Island is not an easy destination to reach. The only regular ferries to this peaceful outpost of the SAR connect with Shataukok, which is in no-man's land, the closed area that borders the mainland. Without a special permit to enter Shataukok, there are only two alternatives: hire your own vessel, which can be very costly, or become a 'Chinese' tourist for a day. I chose the latter, following the flag, the only European among about 100 local day-trippers, though I drew the line at being 'colour-coded' and hid the blue sticker in my wallet instead of displaying it on my T-shirt. The tour was conducted in Cantonese, and my presence raised a few eyebrows from passengers who were obviously surprised to see a gweilo on the trip. But you do not need to speak Cantonese to take in beautiful scenery or to eat a seafood lunch, and if you do your homework, you can even get by without a guide, just as you would have to if you paid through the nose for a charter vessel. I had never been on a Chinese tour before, and prefer to explore alone, but doing things the local way was an experience in itself - and cheap. The Hong Kong Ferry Company runs a number of one-day outings, and this eight-hour trip, including an eight-course meal, was advertised at a very reasonable $198. But a discount slip from a Chinese newspaper slashed the tour fee to only $99. Not only would we anchor at Crooked Island (Kat O), but we would explore part of Hong Kong's most far-flung island, Ping Chau in Mirs Bay. I had always wanted to see both, so I was killing two birds with one stone. The group members met outside University station on the KCR line, collected their stickers and made their way over the main road to Ma Liu Shui pier to catch the small double-deck ferry. If you want to go to Ping Chau under your own steam, a public ferry operates from Ma Liu Shui on Saturday and Sundays. The plan had been to visit Crooked Island first, and then head northeast towards Ping Chau, but the No 1 typhoon signal had been raised as Typhoon Babs approached, and the captain decided to go to exposed Ping Chau first, fearing conditions would deteriorate later in the day. I sat outside, at the back of the vessel where there were only a few seats, as I thought it would be quiet here. But here is a 'stern' warning. It's much better at the bow. We were to get the full blast from the loudspeaker system as the tour guide ranted on endlessly about what wonders were in store. Later, I had the bow to myself as we cut through the calm waters of Tolo Channel, and took in the magnificent views of Plover Cove Country Park around the reservoir of the same name. Even if you were never to step ashore at Ping Chau or Crooked Island, the scenery around here is enough to make this a rewarding trip, some of the most remote and unspoilt countryside in the SAR. But some of my fellow passengers were too absorbed in mahjong to be interested in the scenery. They had been told it was about 90 minutes to Ping Chau and were invited to take out mahjong sets. Most people never raised their heads from the tables until we berthed. Maybe I should learn mahjong. I was reminded of how close we were to the mainland when the captain had to berth at a police pontoon in the middle of Tolo Channel for his papers to be checked. Both sides of the channel are blocked by a floating barrier to prevent illegal immigrants from sneaking through on small craft. The only access is through the centre which is under police surveillance. There would be another check on our return. As soon as we left the sheltered channel, the decks were awash as big waves broke against the hull. Polythene wind-shields were unfurled to keep out the wind and water, but I was already drenched, hit by a rogue wave. The mahjong players had not noticed anything, they were too absorbed in their games. The waters were calmer near the low-lying island of Ping Chau. It is only about two kilometres long and half a kilometre at its widest. About 1,000 people used to live here, mainly fishermen, but their families left for the easier money available in the urban areas. Maybe they were wise, for Daya Bay, with its nuclear power plant, is only a stone's-throw from here. Now the village lies abandoned and decaying, and the only full-time presence on Ping Chau is at the police post. One or two locals come back at weekends to open small stores, as the island has become popular with campers. What looks like a large fish pond at the rear of the ghost village used to be the residents' reservoir. A dead tree pokes eerily out of the middle of the pond, but its 'roots' are a block of concrete. The tree was put there by a Chinese film crew who were shooting on the island. I understand the baddies were hanged from it. Most people who come to Ping Chau make for Kang Lau Shek, attracted by the unusual rock formations, sedimentary tiered siltstones and mudstones, looking like the worn pages of old books. Many of the village houses were built with slabs of rock hewn from the shore. The two highest rocks are known as the 'Watchtowers' and were used by villagers last century to look out for pirates. Pools of fresh water form among the rocks, and in latter days illegal immigrants are said to have stopped here to drink on their long swim across Mirs Bay. I had noticed a sign warning against dynamite fishing and using toxins to kill fish. We walked along the beach to return to the ferry, and dozens of small dead fish had been washed ashore. As we boarded to set off for Crooked Island, a European who had taken the public ferry over to Ping Chau told me he was disappointed to learn there were no restaurants here. He and his son would have a long, hungry wait for the return ferry. The 'S'-shaped Crooked Island is much larger than Ping Chau, five or six kilometres from tip to tip, but it has a population of only a few dozen, mainly fishermen, most of whom live in traditional old houses. In the main street - virtually the only street - an eight-course meal awaited. The local eating places are small and simple, and the 100 or so day-trippers had to be split among several establishments. I suppose the only time they are busy is when tours arrive on Saturday and Sunday. When the tourists sail off, the island falls back into its slumbers. The meal was virtually everything I could not eat, high in cholesterol. First prawns, no thanks. Then squid, again no. Crab was also out. When the pork arrived, I shook my head in disbelief and went off to take some photographs around the harbour. When I returned, the steamed fish had just arrived, and the sympathetic diners at my table passed it over to me, the whole fish. It was a nice gesture. They refused to eat any of it, it was all mine. There's not a lot to see on Crooked Island, apart from the old houses and its famous banyan tree, half uprooted but still healthy. If you want to explore the rest of the island, you'll need to hire your own vessel and spend more time there. The banyan tree is said to bring good luck, especially if its leaves drop on you as you stand underneath. A village couple used to sit under the banyan tree every night, it is said, until the husband went off fishing and was lost at sea. His wife continued to sit under the tree each evening, lamenting his death, until one night the tree was struck by lightning, and she too was killed. If you wait for the leaves to fall, make sure there are no thunder clouds around, unless you believe lightning does not strike twice in the same place. Two village girls had their minds on other things as they sat under the tree. They were making money selling 'floating rocks' that they collect from the shoreline. Very much like pumice, the lightweight 'rocks' were floating in a tub of water. Close to Crooked Island is tiny Ap Chau. 'Ap' means 'duck' in Cantonese, and the guide pulled me to one side and said the island got its name because it is duck-shaped. 'Looks nothing like a duck to me,' I said, looking out from the harbour of Crooked Island. 'Just wait', he promised. We circled the island and at its northern tip there can be no doubt it looks just like a duck with its head in the water. At its other extremity, the island looks for all the world like a sleeping dog. There is no temple on Ap Chau, just a few houses and a small church, for the islanders were converted to Christianity in the early days of colonialism. From Ap Chau, we edged our way around the other side of Crooked Island and through the sheltered waters that border Yan Chau Tong (Double Haven) marine park, between undeveloped Crescent and Double islands with their inviting sandy inlets. Eight hours had passed all too quickly as we headed back towards Tolo Channel and the fumes and fury of the busy highway that follows the coastline to Tai Po. For information on the Crooked Island and Ping Chau tours, call 2993-2211