Because of the Arts Festival, the waters between the town centre and the islands of Sai Kung Hoi have been bustling for the past two years. Regular kaito ferries have resumed, and wooden rental boats now serve as ‘water taxis’, ferrying tourists to explore ancient villages and view art exhibitions. “The pier wasn’t this busy with stalls before, now it’s like a whole street!” observed Mr. and Mrs. Chan, who have been part of Sai Kung’s maritime community for over fifty years. They’ve seen Sai Kung Hoi reinvigorate and attract more visitors to what is affectionately known as ‘Hong Kong’s back garden’. “It’s just stunning here!” they exclaimed.

Mr. and Mrs. Chan, originally rooted in Sai Kung’s inner bays as fishermen, belonged to a community of over a hundred boats anchored near Sai Kung pier. With the decline of the fishing industry, they pivoted to a new livelihood. Thirty years ago, they sold their fishing boat and gathered over ten thousand to buy a second-hand wooden boat, venturing into the boat rental business. This modest wooden craft not only sustained their family but also became their home. Even after switching to boat rentals, the family of five continued to live on board. “We used to get urgent calls from clients, and we’d be ready 24/7. Between ferrying passengers and picking up our daughter from school, life was a juggle,” they reminisced. Despite stiff competition and challenging living conditions, they chose to remain on their boat, drawn by the clean air of Sai Kung. “Going ashore is nice, but it doesn’t offer the freedom we have at sea. I once worked in the city and just couldn’t get used to the polluted air.”

Over the years, they have witnessed the decline of Sai Kung’s fishing industry and the gradual desertion of nearby islands. “Yim Tin Tsai was uninhabited for a long time, only visited during festival weeks or occasionally by those coming to shoot or take wedding photos at its church,” they noted. With no permanent residents and halted ferry services, locals depended on boat owners like Mr. and Mrs. Chan for access to the islands. “Whenever the village chief needed a boat, we were ready to go.”

Decades later, the details of those fishing expeditions are still vivid in his mind. They would set out at dusk, anchor by nightfall, and ignite kerosene lamps that dazzled the dark waters, attracting fish by the shoal. “By 3 am, we’d pull in catches sometimes weighing up to eight or ten picul,” he recalls. Unsold fish were not wasted; instead, they were transported to markets far afield like Aberdeen, Ma Wan, or Peng Chau, a journey of three hours by the slow boats of yesteryear. “While the adults took the main boat to the market, we kids would row the sampans back with the aunties, and if not too weary, we’d scamper ashore for school.”