PERCHED upon thin wooden planks at a floating fish farm behind Tung Lung Island, near Sai Kung, journalist Tony Flores and his friends are holding 36-kilogram hand-lines with palm-sized live prawns dangling at the end, patiently waiting for the first strike.
Braving the intense heat of a Sunday afternoon, they are anticipating some big catches: only a few days back, the fish farm owner hooked a 15-kg garoupa worth up to $3,000 in the surrounding waters, while an even bigger one escaped after a fierce battle.
'Last time we came, all our 14-kg lines snapped and a few of us had our hands cut,' Mr Flores says. His exuberance is characteristic of the avid angler ready to regale anyone within earshot about 'the one that got away'.
As he speaks, he threads 'Spitz' - a prawn he has named after the champion swimmer - on to his hook. Then the wait, hour upon hour. Half a day slowly slips by, with not a single bite to reward his patience.
The attractions of recreational fishing are beyond many people's comprehension. To those who have never tried it, it may seem boring, pointless, absurd and all too often a case of much ado about nothing. Indeed, it is approaching midnight before the gang is willing to leave the farm with their only, far from impressive catch of the day: a 600-gram grunt.
Yet to the converts, fishing is a consuming passion. The thrill of anticipation, the adrenalin surge of the strike, the banshee scream of the reel, and the ferocious fight ensure adherents stay, well, hooked. And although the flagging economy may have reduced spending on entertainment, a growing number of people from different walks of life have turned to recreational fishing.