an unexpected discovery

Whenever we go out for a walk or a bike ride, Paula usually leaves it up to me to decide the route, but a few days ago, I thought that I should leave it up to her to determine the route for that day’s walk. She opted to follow our local river downstream, where in the past we could simply follow the Drainage Services Department (DSD) access road that runs alongside the river.

The first part of this road, which is gated off and therefore only accessible by cyclists and pedestrians, is straightforward, but it is soon blocked by construction barriers, next to a temporary footbridge that allows people to cross to the other side of the river, where there is a makeshift road that was constructed by slathering concrete onto the ground. It isn’t ideal, because it allows access by motor vehicles to the ‘development’ area.

As we walked along this road, I happened to ask, rhetorically, where the goats go now that the area has been denuded of vegetation. There is a large herd of free-range goats in the area, which I saw a couple of weeks ago before the area being cleared was blocked off.

“There!” said Paula, pointing to the river bank under the first permanent footbridge that crosses the river.

I was reminded of an incident a couple of years ago, when it was still possible to walk into Fanling by a direct route. I happened to remark that I hadn’t seen a squirrel for ages. As if it had heard me, we immediately saw a squirrel scurrying up a nearby tree.

Anyway, I waited until we were well downstream of the footbridge before taking this photo:

The goats must have reached here by jumping the fence between the river and the road at some point. Along this section, the DSD access road no longer exists, although there is a path, which few people know about, on the far side of the construction area.

Further downstream, a minor road crosses the river, and beyond that there is currently no construction, so it remains a pleasant location for a walk. However, I’ve only ever cycled along this section, so although I was aware of this tree, I hadn’t noticed that it has completely engulfed the fence:

This is a view looking downstream, in which you can see a bridge that carries Man Kam To Road across the river:

This road is a major highway that leads to the border and carries a lot of freight traffic into and out of China. When we reached it, I learned that Paula’s plan had been simply to double back the way we’d come. Why not follow Man Kam To Road south and come back by a different route, I suggested.

That turned out to be a mistake, a serious error of judgement, because the pavement running alongside the road is extremely narrow, and having big trucks roar by isn’t pleasant. However, after a short distance, I spotted a path leading off to the side that ran alongside a large nullah (storm drain):

The streetlight was an encouraging sign.

“Look!” I said. “There appears to be a park ahead on the right”:

At one point, the path, which had been running tightly alongside the nullah, veered away to the left:

…and we were immediately confronted by a truly impressive banyan between the path and the nullah:

“Bloody hell!” I exclaimed.

You will probably understand my reaction. It certainly knocks the banyan in the forecourt of the Big Tree Temple, which I described in my last post, into a cocked hat! The large leaves around the base of the tree are elephants’ ears.

Here the path crosses to the other side of the nullah:

…and here both the path and the nullah turn abruptly to the left:

I imagine that most readers will know someone who had a rubber plant in a pot in their living room. Well, this is what they could become if allowed to grow unchecked, complete with prop roots:

There are several rubber trees like this along the perimeter of what I’d originally thought was a park but eventually realized was a school’s playing fields:

This cannot possibly be a government school. I base this opinion on two factors: if it had been a government school, the playing fields, which boast two football pitches and a hockey pitch, would have been built on; and no government school would include the word ‘innovative’ in its name.

All this time, I’d been wondering whether we would eventually reach a dead end, which is quite common with DSD access paths, and we’d have to double back:

Fortunately, though, there is a continuation path:

I invariably photograph impromptu wayside shrines that I come across, like the one near the start of this continuation path, but it was only when I looked at the photo I’d taken here that I spotted something odd:

This is a closer look at the main area of interest:

The figure on the left is obviously the Buddha, but why are there only two of the three immortals? The left-hand figure is Luk, who is usually portrayed with a winged hat, which symbolizes power and influence—such hats were once worn by civil servants—but he can also symbolize prosperity, the character on the cup in front of him. Next to him is Sau, who represents longevity, which is also symbolized by the peach in his left hand.

The missing immortal, Fuk, is usually portrayed with a scroll in one hand and a small child in the other, which suggests that the Buddha has been assigned this role here. This does seem odd though, because Fuk is usually associated with good fortune, the third component of an ideal life in Chinese culture. The figure on the right is an anonymous goddess. Notice that the cup in front of Luk, which probably contains rice wine, is larger than the other cups. The supplicant here clearly prioritizes prosperity, which probably reflects the location—an unofficial squatter site.

And notice too the child’s toy, which may be a model of the Space Shuttle or a delta-wing military aircraft. The significance of this is completely beyond my ability to explain.

After a short distance, this path emerges onto Tin Ping Road, which I’ve cycled along dozens of times, but I never noticed this (left of the parked car):

Of course, my oversight is because I don’t consider it prudent to look around me when cycling along urban roads.

This is a satellite photo of the area I’ve just described:

The two yellow X’s show the start and finish of the route, starting from the more northerly X and looping around the school playing field, indicated by a blue X. The Ng Tung River can be seen towards the east and in the northwest corner of the photo.

By the time we’d returned to the DSD access road on our way home, it was getting late, and I took this photo looking downstream from the first permanent footbridge across the river, having followed the little-known path that I referred to above:

After we’d crossed the temporary footbridge mentioned above, I took these last photos, which show the temporary footbridge:

…and which seem like a fitting finale to an extremely interesting excursion that exemplifies why I love Hong Kong: you never know what will be around the next corner.

the big tree temple

Whenever I’m exploring a new area on my bike, my main purpose is to find new paths that I can incorporate into a longer ride. However, I do find other things of interest, such as the murals that I discovered last winter in the Tam Mei valley, none of which I would ever have seen had I not been looking to extend my original route through the valley.

Another example of a serendipitous discovery has been the ‘big tree temple’. I started to explore the area known as Shap Pat Heung (‘eighteen villages’), south of Yuen Long, last winter. I’d started by following a path that ran alongside an unnamed tributary of the Kam Tin River as far as a gazebo that is erroneously included on Google Maps as an ‘historical landmark’ (it isn’t; such structures are ubiquitous throughout the northern New Territories), with the intention of returning along the opposite bank of the river.

However, I couldn’t help but notice how many paths and alleyways led off the path I was on, and naturally I wanted to see whether any of them led anywhere interesting. One of the first paths I ventured down led, eventually, to a temple, although on that first visit I didn’t stop to take any photos. I did want to see, though, whether I could find a second route to the temple and thus have a contiguous circuit.

I’ve now done this. The following photo shows where I decided to turn off my original route (continuing straight on at this point leads to the temple):

Following this path leads to a large area of modern village houses with narrow roads in between, and at one point I came to what I thought was a dead end. However, I spotted a possible exit, which did look rather tricky, but it was the only option:

…and it did lead, eventually, to the temple.

The Tai Shu Ha Tin Hau Temple (‘Tin Hau temple under the big tree’—Tin Hau is the Taoist goddess of the sea) was probably built in 1786. I’ve found several references to a date stone, which I’ve not seen. Local tradition has it that the temple is even older, but I suspect that this refers to an earlier structure on the same site. The temple underwent extensive renovation in 1856—also recorded somewhere on a stone tablet. Ceramic tiles were added to both the interior and exterior walls in 2004, which according to the government website I consulted “very much diminished the authenticity of the temple”. However, it is a Grade II listed building and is definitely worth a visit.

This is a general view of the front of the temple:

I took the next three photos (from left to right) to highlight the denigrated ceramic tiles on the front elevation:

These photos also show the complex array of flowers and birds on the roof ridge—the round red object directly above the left-hand door represents a pearl.

This is a closer look at the left-hand doorway:

…while this is a close-up of the traditional Chinese landscape painting directly above the doorway:

And this is the right-hand doorway:

…followed by a close-up of the area above the doorway:

The murals probably depict scenes from Chinese literature, although that is just a guess based on having seen such scenes adorning other temples.

You may have noticed a QR code within a green border in several of the photos, which is part of the local anti-covid strategy. You are expected to scan it if you enter the temple, and although I do have the necessary app on my phone, I had no intention of venturing inside. First, I don’t wear a mask when cycling; and, second, I don’t want to upset or offend people for whom this is an important cultural centre by going inside and taking photos, although I have seen photos of the interior, and it does look interesting.

And you’re probably wondering about the reference to a big tree:

It’s a banyan, and it’s purported to be hundreds of years old. I suspect that this is an exaggeration. It certainly cannot have been planted deliberately, because banyans are epiphytes, starting life in the crevices of other trees and as they send down roots, slowly strangling the host tree. It also appears that the roots that have reached the ground have been trained deliberately to remain close to the main trunk, because, if left unchecked, aerial roots thicken and become woody some distance from the main trunk. I’ve seen such ‘prop roots’ up to 35–40cm in diameter.

On the way back to my starting point beside the river, my route passes a bougainvillea, which adds some pleasant colour to the ride:

I could simply continue to follow my original route in reverse, but at the point where I turned left on the route to the temple, I decided to turn right:

…because, after a very short distance, I could turn left where the route to the temple turns right:

All the cycling photos in this post are the result of a mysterious malfunction with Paula’s video camera. We were supposed to be shooting a video, but what we got instead was a long series of still photos. I expect to rectify this in due course. Unfortunately, however, I recently aggravated a long-term lower back injury that hadn’t bothered me for years, and I haven’t been able to get on a bike for the past two weeks. I should be getting back to business fairly soon though.

cycling action

Towards the end of our sojourn in Hong Kong last winter, as part of my exploration of the area south of Yuen Long, we discovered an ‘interesting’ path that at the time I didn’t think was a viable cycling option. We’d just finished shooting a video of what I’d named simply ‘Yuen Long (south) path #1’, and when we reached a road where the route I’d already established turned left, I decided, on the spur of the moment, to turn right, merely to see whether the road led anywhere:

And it did! After about 200 metres, the road came to an end, but there was a path that continued in the same direction. Straightforward at first, but then it plunged steeply down towards a cultivated area. And while the initial path had been concrete, we now had to contend with a rough dirt path. That wasn’t a problem at first, but once it started to climb, we had to get off and push.

That might have been it, but during the summer, I figured out that if we tackled the path in the opposite direction, it ought to be possible to ride through. And so it has proved, although I did have some initial problems finding the start of the path in this direction, even though I did remember where, having reached a dirt road, it reconnected with the original route:

The original route turns left here, but the obvious turn to the right is the way to go now.

Having reached the path, after going the wrong way at one point, I have to admit that I did have to put my foot down the first time, because there was a point where a series of oblong blocks had been placed on the path, presumably because the path gets extremely wet during the rainy season, to allow people to keep their feet dry. However, once I knew that this hazard was coming up, I could miss the blocks entirely. And after riding the path three times, I decided that it was time to shoot a video.

Unfortunately, for reasons that I’m unable to explain, instead of a video, we got a series of photos taken at roughly one-second intervals. And because it was a bright, sunny day, the photos of the initial part of the path, which is shaded by many trees, are much too dark to show anything. The main hazard on the first part of the path is the encroaching vegetation on both sides, which makes it difficult to see the edge of the path. And there’s a significant drop on the left, so if you go off the path inadvertently, then you aren’t going to be able to stay on your bike!

Anyway, the following photos, of the second part of the path, provide a good indication of why I consider it a good test of my bike-handling skills:

You can see the exit ramp in the next photo:

Approaching the climax of this extremely tricky path:

And this sequence shows the exit ramp:

It’s as steep as it looks! I don’t think it would even be possible if it continued to be a dirt path instead of concrete. You would get too much wheel spin.

Of course, I still want to shoot a video here. Watch this space.

red legs

I don’t consider myself to be a birdwatcher, but I do like to know the identity of birds that I see around my home and when I’m out cycling. Mind you, Paula and I have our own names for many of the birds we see or hear regularly, based on either their calls or their appearance. For example, the large hawk cuckoo is the ‘telephone ringer’—it doesn’t actually sound like a telephone ringing, but the cadence is the same. Black-collared starlings are ‘noisy buggers’—Paula’s coinage, although if you hear a pair ‘arguing’ you will understand. And red-whiskered bulbuls are ‘pointy heads’, an allusion to their prominent crests.

This is also the case with ‘red legs’, more formally known as black-winged stilts. You may guess from the formal name that they have extremely long legs, and from our name that these legs are bright red, although you can’t tell this from any of the photos below. I’ve seen the odd individual bird in my local river (Ng Tung River), and also on the upper reaches of the Sheung Yue River, which is part of the same catchment. However, to see these birds in large numbers, the Kam Tin River, in the western New Territories, is the place. Yesterday, I took the following photo at the point where we first reach the river:

I’ve seen cormorants, spoonbills and avocets here, which are all seasonal visitors, in addition to the local herons and egrets, although avian activity is limited when the tide is high. You can just make out a group of red legs to the left of the solitary mangrove tree. The high-rise buildings in the distance are in Shenzhen.

From this point, our route continues upstream to Hung Mo Bridge, which we cross. We then follow a Drainage Services access road along the west bank of the river to a point where the river divides into two. A short distance upstream from the confluence, there is a dam across the more westerly tributary, and there was a large group of red legs spread out across it:

This is a closer view:

We’ve often seen red legs here, but I don’t think we’ve seen quite this many at one time.

There were so many that there was a spillover group a few metres behind the dam, which we’d never seen before:

You can see the MTR’s West Rail Line in the background, and also what I believe is a water treatment plant.

And this is a closer view of the second group of red legs:

…while this photo provides a general view of the two groups:

A few individuals were foraging for food in the water behind the dam:

The last photo that I took here is a view looking downstream, also showing the two groups of red legs:

The mouth of the eastern tributary can be seen between the right-hand and central reflections of the support pillars of the rail line.

Finally, on the previous Saturday, the water level was high when we arrived at the river, and there seemed to be no activity to record. Suddenly, however, there were a couple of loud croaks, I think from egrets further up the unnamed tributary that joins the main river here, and this spooked a large group of red legs that had been assembled at a point on the opposite bank. They flew off in tight formation—an incredibly impressive sight that prompted a frantic scrabble to get our phones out. Unfortunately, I was too late, and Paula just managed to record the last 10 seconds as they returned to where they’d started, by which time the formation had become somewhat ragged:

I cycle this way at least once a week at this time of year, and now is the time for seasonal visitors, so look out for more reports on bird life on the Kam Tin River.