By Jay Scott Kanes
LAMMA ISLAND, Hong Kong – Eight climbers together scaled the 353-metre Mount Stenhouse, Lamma’s highest peak, on April 5. Astonishingly, they entirely missed the anticipated reward of magnificent views across much of Hong Kong.
Despite clear visibility at sea level, the scenery up high had vanished behind thick white cloud shrouding the slopes. Anything or anyone more than a few metres away turned invisible.
The climbers (four people, including me, and four dogs, with expedition members from Britain, Canada, Switzerland, Thailand and Hong Kong) scrambled upwards, grunting at times, lashed by branches, unable to see the summit, nor much of the trail behind. They struggled even to keep each other in sight.
Twice before, I’d climbed Stenhouse. This time, the thick, damp whiteness surrounding us beyond whatever few rocks we stood on made the experience almost surreal.
The other climbers included Lamma-Gung, Kalaya and Richard Moore, my dog Gail, the Moores’ canines Kiekie and Winnie, and the nomadic mutt, Bianchino, who met us on the trail and led the way. The expedition started in Yung Shue Wan, Lamma’s largest village, at 7:30 a.m. Seven hours later, the climbers returned, weary but somewhat satisfied, despite seeing little more than rocks underfoot and white mist everywhere else.
Easily disoriented in the fog, the climbers often recognized just two directions: “up” and “down”. Once, they veered wrong and the trail vanished from underfoot.
“We took a wrong turn,” said one human.
“Let’s backtrack,” said another.
“Once we find the trail again, we can follow it to where we went wrong,” reasoned another.
They turned and tried to push back through the surrounding thick bushes, moving just a few steps. “No, this isn’t the way we came.”
They plodded in another direction. “Still not the way,” they agreed.
“What now?” They tried to peer through the fog, sensing how easily people can get hopelessly lost.
Then they thought to look at the dogs, huddled together watching the humans, at exactly the spot to return to the trail. “Hey, they know the way. Follow them.”
Too polite to comment, the dogs stayed silent.
Once back on course, the climbers soon reached the summit. There, they celebrated with a mini-feast of cake and cookies taken from back-packs.
The descent proved equally daunting. Unable to see much, the climbers adopted a simple strategy: “just keep going down”. Sometimes the smallest dog, 10-year-old Winnie, needed extra encouragement, even a lift, to conquer rocks bigger than she reckoned her short legs could handle.
As the climbers returned close to sea level, the fog vanished from around them. So did the time of tranquility.
For the Ching Ming holiday, hordes of city people had swarmed in to tidy gravesites on the “foothills” near Sok Kwu Wan, Lamma’s second-largest village. The sight of one man severing branches off an overhanging tree angered Lamma-Gung: “He’s not allowed to do that.”
Too many fearful holiday visitors flinched, gasped or hid behind friends at the sight of the dogs. Near a landmark pagoda, a pre-teen boy noticed the dogs and leaped off the path into a jumble of hillside bushes. Only good luck saved him from a much longer fall. His antics triggered scolding from his adult escorts.
The crowded footpaths and holiday commotion made some of the climbers wish they’d stayed up higher – even if that meant clinging to the tricky slopes in near-zero visibility.
Previously Published:
Tricky Trails Test Hikers on Mount Stenhouse -- January 3, 2008
Cunning Canines Guide Slimmed Man Higher -- February 6, 2009
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