Recollections of tropical typhoon adventures

Tropical typhoons are among the most destructive storms in the world. Another one was heading directly towards Hong Kong, and the territory was once again battening down.

It was going to be a bad cyclone . . . perhaps as bad as Typhoon Wanda which plucked a hapless ocean liner out of the harbour and deposited it in the middle of Kowloon's main thoroughfare, Nathan Road. (Kowloon is across the harbour from Hong Kong.)

The ocean liner had been stuck in the harbour after suffering major mechanical problems which prevented it from heading back to sea to ride out the storm.

Over the years Ann and I have been through a few typhoons and learnt what to expect. But this particular typhoon was many years ago, when my experience with them was scarce.

Damage & destruction duty

I was working for one of the two local morning newspapers and with the typhoon's approach the news room had once again divided the territory up into areas for reporters and photographers to cover.

The plan was for each reporter to be in an area to witness damage and destruction, then to get out on the spot once the storm had passed to report on the aftermath.

The prime spots which involved complimentary hotel rooms and were close to restaurants and clubs naturally went first. I had secured some of these spots in previous years and knew of their advantages.

The then mainly rural area of the New Territories was not everyone’s first pick - huge distances, scattered townships and plain hard work to cover. A colleague, Bill, had a family farm in the NT’s Tai Po area and always volunteered for the NT spot. But it was a two-man job, so I volunteered to go with Bill.

The typhoon was due the next morning in the early hours, giving the usual gang of us no reason to depart from our after-work routine of a few drinks and a meal and a few more drinks.

Bill and I had our assigned company vehicle - a mini which some would argue with some justification was less-than-ideal for typhoon coverage. It was ready for work, gratings over the window as protection against crashing trees and tree limbs, safety equipment in the back including hard hats, flashlights and radios (this was pre mobile phones), and several jerry cans of petrol and water.

By the time we left the last drinking spot it was early morning and the winds were strong and worsening. So Bill and I climbed into our mini and started on our long drive to Tai Po.

Once out in the NT, we were getting a buffeting by the winds. It was not unlike turbulence in an aircraft.

The rain was blinding, the roads wet and slippery, and tree limbs and other debris was flying around.

We were fortunate in that we had tucked ourselves in behind the last bus out to the New Territories that night, using its bulk as a windbreak. But our good fortune was not to last as half way to Tai Po the bus stopped and started doing a U-turn. We jumped out and asked the driver what was happening.

"Too dangerous to go on - the winds are too strong and there's flooding and trees down ahead and road washouts and landslips, so we’re heading back to the depot in town," the driver told us.

Bus heads back to town, mini bravely presses on

We were on our own, and making slow progress. We appreciated the mini’s lower centre of gravity, which we convinced ourselves would prevent us from being blown over.

We were looking for a causeway we needed to drive across. We found it, but it was underwater. Bill was confident he could keep the road under the mini, having driven across it in total darkness countless times.

At the end of the causeway we saw a police Land Rover blocking the causeway, and a policeman wildly swinging a hurricane lamp. I said what I thought was obvious. "We'd better stop."

"Can't stop," said Bill, "we're more a boat than a car and there's no traction between the tyres and the road."

We signalled madly to the policeman to get out of the way as the only thing that was going to stop us was the Land Rover. Fortunately he realized our predicament and moved - we nudged into the Land Rover and came to a halt alongside it.

The police were there to stop traffic using the causeway road, but were still waiting for another vehicle to arrive so they could block off both ends.

He told us conditions were atrocious and suggested we head to the local Fire Station. He helped us manoeuvre our vehicle onto a higher and drier road. We thanked him and headed off to find refuge at the fire station.

Evacuating fire crews

As we approached the fire station I couldn’t help but observe we were going downhill into a low lying area.

"This doesn't look good," I remarked to Bill.

Prophetic words. We arrived to find the local fire crews packing up their vehicles and getting ready to evacuate the station due to imminent flooding.

By this time our little mini had had enough of being a boat and driving through torrential rains. It refused to start.

We pleaded with the fire brigade for help to get back up to higher ground, including asking for a tow. They cited some regulations which prohibited towing of private vehicles and said we were on our own.

We had little choice but to wait for the mini to dry out, watching all the time for signs of flooding and ready to evacuate on foot.

Very long walk - cold, wet & miserable

Again, as luck would have it, a group of about eight local farmers came by - they were checking their crops and livestock. We explained our predicament to them, and they agreed to help push the mini up to a local school, which was the highest point around.

We had to push the mini all the way as it was still refusing to start. The weather continued to worsen after the villagers left, so we decided with the mini in a safe position there was little else to do but walk to Bill's family farm.

Luckily Bill knew where the railroad tracks were and calculated that if we walked along the tracks for a couple of hours we would wind up very close to the farm.

The thought of a two hour walk in pitch darkness and howling winds was not something we looked forward to. The wind was so strong sometimes we couldn't stand upright for long. The rains were pelting down. The wind drove the rain into our skin like thousands of piercing needles. We were cold, wet and miserable.

And now there was spectacular lightening all around as well.

By far the scariest part was walking across open railway bridges with just a thin hand rail to hang on to.

Wood-fired hot baths & mom's home cooking

We eventually arrived at Bill's family farm . . . at the height of the typhoon. First thing we wanted was a hot bath so we could get warm again. There was no electricity, but fortunately the cooking stove was wood-fired and roaring away - so it was just a question of heating up as much water as we needed.

While we took turns having a bath, Bill's mother struggled to put together a meal for us on the wood stove. She eventually emerged triumphant with plates of hot rice, stir-fried Chinese greens and a big bowl of garlic and brown sauce winkles. And lots of hot tea.

A simple candlelit meal. At the time, while using a piece of wire to remove every tiny winkle from its shell, we reflected how the simple meal rivalled to us any served in a five-star restaurant.

Back on the job at dawn

Warm and fed we turned in for the night and a welcome sleep. We were up at the crack of dawn making arrangements to pick up the mini and begin our coverage for the newspaper.

We toured some badly hit areas, talked to village representatives, and pieced together what we thought was a comprehensive account of the crop damage, landslides, damaged buildings and unfortunately some loss of life during the typhoon, plus an estimation of the massive clean-up that was beginning.

We also worked in our personal experience and all the stories we filed won praise for our depth of our reporting.

Another close-hitting typhoon

I was to experience many more typhoons in Hong Kong, but none quite as dramatic as this one. Although one typhoon Ann and I experienced while living on Lantau came close . . . closer than we knew at the time.

It was a slow-moving threat and we had prepared the house - windows all taped, everything stowed away, truck put in a sheltered position. There was nothing to do but wait.

As we were quite high up on top of a hill and exposed to the elements, the plan was to open the windows on the opposite side to where the wind was blowing. This would prevent pressure build-up and potential damage. Then when the calm of the eye of the storm was passing, it would be time to close the open side and open the closed side, and wait for the backlash - usually much stronger than the "front" of the storm.

With a bottle of Scotch for Dutch courage, we waited and waited . . . and waited. Drank some more Scotch, and waited . . . and waited. When the Scotch was all gone, we decided to go to bed.

Chaos in the calm

Sometime later we woke up to an eerie calm . . . stepped out of bed into 10 inches of water in the house (luckily a tiled floor) and no electricity. We were in the eye of the storm.

Windows were smashed, there was glass everywhere. The outside roofed porch had been blown away, and there was vegetation, debris and mud every place we looked. There were tiny leaves and twigs embedded in the concrete interior walls, driven in by the force of the wind. We taped up the damaged windows, opened the windows on the other side and watched the second round of nature's fury.

Round 2

We saw the roof of a building blow off in one piece and into the adjacent rice paddy fields.

We listened to our tiny battery radio and learned of the inevitable landslides, parts of road washed away and widespread damage. Our village was isolated - huge chunks of the main road on either side of the village had been washed away.

The ferry pier at Silvermine Bay was gone, so even when ferry services resumed there was nowhere for the ferry to dock. A temporary pontoon dock was eventually brought in.

Ferry ride from hell

A friend skippered the last ferry out before the typhoon. He left Hong Kong shortly after signal No. 5 was raised. His route was to Peng Chau, Silvermine Bay, Cheung Chau and back.

He was half way into the half-hour journey to Peng Chau when the warning was increased to Signal 7. He battled his 550-passenger double deck ferry through mountainous seas for the 45 minute journey to Silvermine Bay.

The crew had cleared everything off the bottom deck, transferred passengers to the upper deck, and made the engine room watertight.

Passengers on the top deck were asked to refrain from moving about.

"Accept you are all going to get soaking wet," the captain told the passengers. "I can't have you all rushing from one side of the ferry to the other as it makes the ferry even more unstable and dangerous."

As the ferry approached Silvermine Bay it became clear the chances of successfully docking were slim.

After much difficulty the captain secured the ferry to the pier, but a huge swell lifted up the ferry up and as it was still lashed to the pier structure, ripped the partly rotted wooden pier wall off its support to the concrete retaining wall.

The crew quickly unlashed the wooden structure and the captain decided that was it - he was going back to Hong Kong and the safety of a typhoon shelter. Number 9 was up by this time.

He hugged the coast for what was to be a four hour return journey during which the waves even smashed the windows on the wheelhouse on top of the second deck.

Operation Clean-Up

Back on Lantau, when conditions had calmed down we began Operation Clean-Up and thanked our lucky stars nothing more serious had happened to us and we were not among the many killed in the typhoon's fury.

To this day we maintain a healthy respect for nature's fury . . . based on our encounters with typhoons over the years.

Even though Hong Kong is built to withstand the wrath of typhoons, this can only be achieved to a certain degree. Nothing is ever taken for granted. Certainly not with Mother Nature.