Lost and found in Lantau

Lantau island, famous for it's abundant forests, towering peaks and sleepy fishing villages, is known as "the lungs of Hong Kong". What makes this epithet so impressive, aside from the fact that Lantau is just thirty minutes away by ferry from one of the most frenetic capitals in the world, is that the development of a dismal Disneyland and the world's most popular airport haven’t managed to strip the island of it's title.

Having lived in Hong Kong for the past five months I've been meaning to make the short journey to Lantau for a while. It was only last Monday though, when a colleague returned bronzed and glowing from the weekend, that I was spurred into action: she had been there, she said it was amazing and I wanted to look like she did for a change on Monday morning.

By lunchtime she had drawn a map for me - a unique thing hurriedly penciled onto a post-it note with landmarks such as "barking dogs", "bicycle racks" and "lots of children" to navigate by. She talked infectiously of gently undulating hills with uninterrupted views of golden sands and swimming at the beach before enjoying a South African style braii. By the end of the day I was armed with the comforting bulk of The Serious Hiker's Guide to Hong Kong which, although void of the particular walk that bronzed colleague experienced, boasted a detailed, shiny, illustrated map of the Lantau trail, the 70km long, circular walk that starts and finishes in Mui Wo.

Mui Wo, connected by ferry to Hong Kong island and Discovery Bay, is a sleepy fishing village; it's main purpose seems to be to act as a rustic "park and ride" for Lantau's inhabitants who arrive there by bike before heading into Central. The only infringements of city based Hong Kong life are the MacDonald’s, standing awkwardly by the sea, a run-down 7-Eleven and a grotty supermarket. When we arrived there was hardly a soul to be seen. Finding bicycle racks, as instructed by the post-it note map, wasn't difficult but in the Saturday afternoon rain the "barking dogs" and congregations of children proved more elusive. Confident that bronzed colleague could only have started at the beginning of the Lantau trail (which was the one, very badly signposted walking route out of Mui Wo) we settled for following its small, silver markers.

The first stage of the Lantau trail isn't a very inspiring walk. Uphill all the way, and never deviating from the asphalt of the South Lantau Road, it sat at odds with bronzed colleague's account of paradise. Only after thirty minutes of walking does it lead to a glade – the Nam Shan picnic area – and a wooden archway by the L005 marker takes you away from the noise and fumes of the main road. Soon surrounded by indigenous trees, the sound of birds and dappled sunlight we were lulled into thinking that we had, at last, found the trail of dreams.

We forked off the Lantau trail and onto a smaller, less trodden track that took us up and into sparser woodland. Trees soon made way to grassy mountainside and we stood below Sheung Tung Au looking down onto Mui Wo and up into the higher-reaching summits of Lantau island. The views were spectacular: unspoiled by developments and unbroken by high-rise buildings. We were alone on the trail and acutely aware of listening to the complete sound of silence for the first time in five months.

Our reverie, however, didn't last for long. The South Lantau Country Trail, which we were now following, took us through an unbroken two-kilometre stretch of trees inhabited by the largest spiders any of us had ever seen. These monsters had yellow-striped bodies, muscular thighs, huge staring eyes and what looked distinctly like fangs. They had woven webs that spanned a good three metres and it was impossible to walk without getting mouthfuls of cobweb. Terrified of ending up a sticky trap and being attacked by one of these beasts the appeal of the silent mountains began to diminish. Where spiders live, surely snakes must follow, and I had seen a post just a few days before on Victoria Peak stating that August is peak snake season.

Feeling very Indiana Jones-ish we ventured on, wishing one of us at least had been as well prepared as his trusty sidekick, Shorty. Swatting oversized webs and ducking arachnids gradually lost some of its initial terror, one of our party even foolhardily began flicking spiders’ lairs in an attempt to get an even closer look at the large eight-legged inhabitants. The sideshow came to an abrupt close as we all stopped dead in our tracks hearing the same unexpected noise. Water. Lots of water.

The narrow trail took us down and, as it wound ever closer to the sound of rushing water, earth became rock that became wet slippery rock. Crossing the first waterfall without the familiar comfort of a bridge was pretty nerve wracking; blindly springing from one water-bound rock to the next we all silently prayed not to slip, nervously knowing we’d now ventured so far out of our usual comfort zone that our mobile phones were picking up signals from China rather than Hong Kong. After two or three waterfall crossings, and semi-mastering the art of rock leaping, we realised how lucky we were to be enjoying such powerful natural displays alone away from the tourist groups and sign-toting tour guides that usually accompany them.

After successfully skirting the waterfalls we were rewarded with a succession of fantastic views across to Pui O beach. From afar we saw groups of miniscule people looking to be having a fantastic Saturday swimming, lounging on the sand and enjoying the food at Oh La La restaurant. From the bulk of the mountain Pui O looked so close that we wanted to save our aching legs and roly-poly down the hillside to flop onto the golden sands. Our trail had other plans for us though as it snaked underneath the Lantau trail proper hugging the sides of Yitung Shan and Sunset Peak.

Four hours, thirteen kilometers, twelve waterfalls, hundreds of spiders and goodness knows how many steps ascended and descended later we hit a road. For hours it seemed like we were at least a couple of hundred years away from civilisation, and being back amongst chugging, fuel emitting lorries and buses came as a surprisingly un-relieving end to our adventure.

Our trail came to a close at the end of the second stage of the Lantau trail at Tung Chung Road. There below us lay a development site, with bright yellow cranes and fork-lift trucks digging up and destroying the forests we had just conquered, it was a bittersweet finale; whilst our walk wasn’t the gentle weekend stroll I had in mind it was a real slice of adventure and an unexpected respite from an otherwise unerringly comfortable city. To see it being destroyed, if only in part for the moment, was galling. It seems that the lungs of Hong Kong will find it difficult to breathe easy for too much longer, and it’s a real shame to think that future walkers might be denied the terrifying spiders and vertiginous waterfalls that Lantau is currently home to.

Getting there:
Ferry timetables for First Ferry (Central – Mui Wo)

Resources:
The Serious Hiker’s Guide to Hong Kong – Pete Spurrier
The Hong Kong Observatory

Eating:
Oh La La, Pui O Beach, Lantau Island: +852 2546 3543
The Stoep, 32 Lower Cheung Sha Village: +852 2980 2699