Hiking across Winter's Seaside Solitude
▲The Fisher Girl statue stands as an iconic artwork on the coast of Zhuhai, Guangdong province. [Photo by MA HONGMEI/FOR CHINA DAILY]
The winter wind in Beijing is a cold fact of the season.
It has a way of piercing the skin, no matter how many layers you wear. As I hiked the Yudushan scenic spot in Yanqing district, where even the waterfalls had frozen mid-flow against the shaded cliff faces, glowing pale blue under the sun, I was chilled to my bones.
What little warmth the sun could spare was stripped away by the wind — dry, furious and thorough.
I walked on, each step a fight.
My body passed through one winter while my consciousness held a passport to another.
It was the same time, but a year earlier. The winter wind in Hong Kong carried the warm, damp weight of the sea. It gently lingered around me as I wore just a hoodie.
I was hiking with a friend along the coastal trail in the southeastern part of Hong Kong Island, the sun resting on my shoulders, the South China Sea stretching below like a vast sheet of glistening blue.
That day, we had planned a route that was easily accessible, with little elevation, yet offered a rich mix of experiences, including coastal walks, hill climbs, and a bit of cave exploration, from Dragon's Back to Cape D'Aguilar.
▲A hiker enjoys a bird's-eye view of Hong Kong's urban skyline. [Photo provided to China Daily]
To those long pent-up in the city, the mere act of taking a roughly 30-minute bus ride to reach nature's embrace is in itself a solace.
To reach the trailhead, simply take Bus No 9 from the Shau Kei Wan Bus Terminal on Hong Kong Island and alight at the To Tei Wan stop on Shek O Road.
The starting point is clearly marked by a wooden sign reading "Hong Kong Trail/Dragon's Back".
Dragon's Back is the eighth section of the 50-kilometer-long Hong Kong Trail, which runs east to west across Hong Kong Island. The section was named "Best Urban Hike in Asia" by Time magazine in November 2004.
The bus was filled with the sounds of various languages.
It's a reminder that I was in an international metropolis where many residents seek a weekend getaway, one that offers the high reward of beautiful seaside views for very little travel time and effort.
The Dragon's Back Trail ascends gently, winding through lush trees and sun-dappled bushes. We followed its stone steps and log-built stairways upward. Farther up the way, the view opened: the Redhill Peninsula appeared like a luxury cruise ship anchored offshore, its white buildings stacked like passenger decks along the hillside's graceful curve.
In the turquoise bay beside it, scattered boats drifted or sailed leisurely, tracing temporary bright lines across the shimmering water.
After about 40 minutes of unhurried walking, we reached Shek O Peak.
The summit offered a sweeping panorama. Ahead, the sharp ridgeline cut against the sky. Seaward, the horizon blurred where pale azure heavens met the deeper blue of the ocean. Small islands and peninsulas, clothed in vibrant green, fractured the expanse. Closer to shore, the water softened into long bands of aqua that washed against the arc of the white-sand beach below.
Throughout the climb, the sea breeze grew steadily stronger, blowing on our faces and through our hair.
By the time we reached the peak, the wind was so insistent that it left us with no presentable selfies from that height, yet it was also the very wind that swept away the accumulated anxiety and restlessness of my day-to-day routine.
We descended along the same path and arrived at the To Tei Wan bus stop. A single stop on Bus No 9 took us to the entrance of the Cape D'Aguilar trail, the start of a roughly 7-km-long out-and-back coastal walk.
The trail unfolded mostly as a gentle, paved walk, and the people strolling along it appeared relaxed and rejuvenated. Walking farther, small roadside stalls sold milk tea and grass jelly. The languid movements and expressions of the vendors offered me a quiet glimpse into the rhythm of Hong Kong's countryside.
At one bend, a cave opened on the left, its mouth echoing with waves and intermittent shrieks.
Drawn by the sound, we stepped inside.
With each surge of the tide, water thundered into the chamber, striking the cobbled ground and cave walls. Every crash was met with joyful shouts and laughter from those gathered there. There's a raw and shared exhilaration, exaggerated by the sea's breath.
A similar scene unfolded at the trail's turnaround point — another natural wonder at Cape D'Aguilar known as Crab's Cave, which features a massive, weathered rock arch stretching over the shore.
Beneath it, the sea drove hard against the dark rocks, throwing white spray into the air, sometimes shooting straight through the arch's opening to mist the visitors who waited cautiously on the reef for a clear moment to take their photo.
Their laughter and shouts rose and fell with the water.
Just steps away, however, solitary figures sat on the rocks, gazing out at the open sea, perhaps lost in thought, perhaps simply breathing in the vastness.
A quiet certainty settled over me then. By the sea, it hardly matters whether you stand among laughter or alone.
On a coastal hike like this, with a cool wind moving through you and winter embracing you, everything seems to soften into irrelevance.
I realized this same feeling had come to me before, always in winter, somewhere along the subtropical shores of the Guangdong-Hong Kong-Macao Greater Bay Area.
During Spring Festival of 2025, I walked along the southern edge of Coloane in Macao, carrying a box of egg tarts. My path took me past temples, churches and country parks, alongside rows of small houses painted in bright, harmonious colors, leading me all the way to a serene arc of black sand.
▲The trail from Dongchong to Xichong is popular among outdoor enthusiasts in Shenzhen, Guangdong. [Photo provided to China Daily]
Another time, during one November, I crossed from Dongchong to Xichong in Shenzhen, Guangdong province, climbing rocky stretches where chains were fixed into the rock to pull myself up.
"The sea cures all ailments of man," Plato once said.
I couldn't agree more.
A piercing gust tore my down jacket hood from my head — and with it, the lingering memory of that other winter.
With stiff fingers, I pulled my right hand from the warm pocket, hurriedly fixed the hood back in place, tightened the cord, and quickened my pace along the valley path that still reflected the faint blue glow of the frozen waterfalls.
"The only escape from longing is to be where you already are," I reminded myself.