#sheunglukstream

Mountain pool its was real nature pool #sheunglukstream

Between the 16th and the 19th of December 2015, 21 of us participated in a project called The Third Space (1) : Sai Wan Winter Camp. Of the 21 people, 12 were public participants from all backgrounds, ranging from 18 to 30 years old. The other eight people were three artists (including myself), four members of the Asia Art Archive Learning and Programming team and two writers–one of which was also trained in first aid. Following a series of screenings and a handful of meetings, the 21 of us went into the wild and endured the three coldest days of this year’s winter in Sai Wan Village, Sai Kung. On the chilly afternoon of the second day, participants Kiki, Dorothy and I took a moment to give Mr. Lai, the village chief, some seasonal seeds from our urban farming projects–Yau Ma Tei Gardener and HK Farm respectively. After sharing some of Sai Wan’s history with us, Mr. Lai kindly took us to the locations of three shrines, unfortunately now all reduced to rubble. Cold but in warm spirits and by the sea, Mr. Lai proceeded to tell us a story that his granddad told him when he was a young boy. I would like to share this story with you. Many years ago Sai Wan Village was a thriving fishing village, home to around 50 people, many of which were in the fishing and salted fish industry. Every morning the sound made from blowing into a conch shell horn would prompt everyone in the village to gather at the beach and help pull in the daily catch. Sai Wan Village had a unique way of catching fish. A wide floating net spanning the length of the beach would be taken out to sea, and with the collective effort of everyone in the village, young and old alike, the four corners of the long hand weaved net would be pulled in, sometimes momentarily pulled back out by the ebb current and some of the stronger mackerel tuna desperate to escape. One early morning, a dozen vigilantes rowed to Ham Tin Wan Village, the nearby village, and violently ransacked numerous villagers’ homes. Armed with daggers, no conscience and their morning loot, they appeared over the hill that overlooks the whole of Sai Wan Village, planning their next criminal act. With binoculars, one thief honed into their next target, the thirty odd village houses that populated Sai Wan Village. The thief studied the villagers’ patterns and noticed people separating the morning’s catch into large wicker baskets. Through his binoculars he could see the iridescent shine of the fresh Chinese mackerel dancing in the baskets, the reflection of the sun causing him to blink. His binoculars shifted and then focused on the beach and the numerous heavy footprints pressed deeply into the sand. Turning around to the other eleven thieves, he whispered that this was a populated village with clearly a large population of men. He informed them that he could see thousands of footprints, and indeed there were many. What he did not know was that they were formed by the tug-of-war fishing method invented by Sai Wan Village. The weight of the fishnet made the impressions in the sand deeper and longer than those caused by an average-sized person. The thieves knew that they were outnumbered and decided to skip this village and instead opt for the path along Sheung Luk Stream, leading to other villages (now buried under the High Island Reservoir). Amazed by the four waterfalls they decided to take a break and had a nude swim in the second of the naturally formed ponds. Finishing the story Mr. Lai informed Kiki, Dorothy and I that this is one of many stories that has made Sai Wan Village the village it is today. He clearly enjoyed telling us his granddad’s story.  The next morning, Fiona, one of the participating artists in our camp, took us on an unforgettable soundwalk that coincidently followed the path of the thieves in Mr. Lai’s story. Looking down from the top of the hill, I imagined what over 1,000 footprints might have looked like through binoculars. Walking back to the village from Sheung Luk Stream, Fiona led us towards the coastline, where we walked on the smooth and untouched beach. We paused and looked out to the sea and neighbouring islands. I recalled Mr. Lai’s story before looking back to see that collectively we created our own 1,000 footprints many many years later. Michael Leung Written on the minibus back from Sai Kung, 18th December 2015 Photograph by Wisaack Wong