Dragon boat paddler Ah Fat sits back easily on a plastic chair on the patio deck of the Victoria Recreation Club in Deep Water Bay and smiles broadly as the children of the club’s café owner scamper around playing. Though now in his 50s, he is fit, toned and bronzed from decades of paddling and steering dragon boats under the scorching Hong Kong sun. Amidst the English-speaking ex-pats and 30-something locals who are changing into training gear and catching up after a long day’s work in the city, Ah Fat distinctly stands out. Part of that comes from being older and more experienced than his fellow paddlers but he is also one of the most well versed on the colourful history of dragon boats in Hong Kong. And because that history is so intrinsically linked to his forefathers, a long line of the island’s fishermen inhabitants, his lineage also sets him apart as a sort of dragon boat oracle amidst the paddlers and aficionados who flock to the annual races.

As we sit watching the children at their games, Ah Fat reminisces about his history and how dragon boat racing – and the boats – have changed over the years. At first utilitarian in design and purpose, dragon boats became recreational gradually and were further altered after 1976 when what had become a sport was formalized by a group of individuals interested in widening the appeal. Eventually those pioneers became the Hong Kong Dragon Boat Association, rules and teams sprang up and suddenly the traditional sport of the island’s first inhabitants became an international phenomenon with teams in over 50 countries worldwide.

Originally, the dragon boats were painstakingly crafted by fishermen from treated teak, and ranged in length from under 10 metres to over 30 with a width of about 1.2 metres for a vessel streamlined and sleek to slice through the water. As racing among different fishing villages became more popular, the boats took on touches of aesthetic flare here and there (including team parasols, drums and banners) until eventually many became adorned, as they are now, with carved dragon heads and tails affixed to the boats on race day.

In recent years, dragon boats have been primarily made of fibreglass for easier maintenance and storage and, in some cases, ceased to have the dragon adornments at all because of wind resistance. Such changes may be the natural evolution of a sport becoming increasingly more global, but for Ah Fat, traditional dragon boats are intrinsic to his childhood memories and cultural ties.

The son of a fisherman who paddled, Ah Fat remembers when, “at 10 years old, I started participating in the dragon boat traditions though I wasn’t allowed to actually get in the boat and paddle until I was 17.”

Over the seven years before he was allowed to participate, he says he learnt the dragon boat traditions that had been passed down from generation to generation. He also grew to understand the way dragon boat racing functioned as a community hub for the families of fishermen, who would roast pigs or eat freshly caught seafood together in celebration after each competition.

“Though the Chinese New Year is the most significant day for most in Hong Kong, the Dragon Boat Festival in June is more significant for fishermen,” says Ah Fat. “Fishermen will choose not to take a day off for New Year’s but will to row their dragon boat [in the festival]; they will use that day to paddle.”

The traditions date back over 2,000 years, to the Mi-Lo River and the memory of famed Chinese scholar Ch’u Yuan’s suicide in 278 BC. According to legend, locals reacted to his act of protest against the corrupt Ch’u ruler by rushing out to the river in their fishing boats, splashing the water with paddles, beating drums and scattering rice dumplings all in hopes of preventing the fish from eating his body.

Also, Ah Fat is quick to point out, for fishermen the history of dragon boats cannot be separated from the gods and especially revered sea goddess Tin Hau and her effect on the season’s catch, as well as protection for the village against unfriendly spirits of the sea. It became tradition, he says, to take the statue of the goddess out of the temple on race day and carry it on board during the race so that each dragon boat, in a sense, had its own spiritual protection.

“Hong Kong originated with fishermen, so for them to worship the goddess that governs the sea is very important,” Ah Fat says. “So during a race it’s especially important to pay respect to her.”

In this gesture to Tin Hau, the fishermen ask her for good health, prosperity and, “that the boat wins!” he says with a laugh. After the races, he notes, she is carefully returned to the temple, hopefully unscathed by the excitement aboard the winning vessel.

Ask Ah Fat about his favourite dragon boat memories and his eyes really light up. The words tumble over each other as he vividly describes his first race (or “international appearance” as he calls it) in Macau and, more recently, getting to travel to South Africa for an international competition with the Hong Kong Island Paddle Club. He joined the club in 2001, after paddling and steering for the Hop Sing Long club for many years.

Yet some of the most fascinating parts of Ah Fat’s dragon boat heritage are the rituals that have been practiced for centuries upon centuries. Mostly, the fishermen communities of the outlying islands like Lamma, Lantau and Cheung Chau are most stringent about holding to dragon boat tradition, though some of those traditions have also been adopted into contemporary clubs and races.

The two most important ceremonies performed on the boat are blessing it into ‘awakening’ before the race and then putting it back to ‘sleep’ afterwards. Four days before a race the dragon boat is taken out of storage and has its dragon head and tail (which have been kept safely in a village temple) attached. Then, a Taoist priest burns paper money before the boat, making offerings and chanting prayers to the gods to ward off evil and bless the boat. Safely blessed, the boat is then paddled to and from the temple three times, while the drummer’s beats show the village’s reverence to its gods and assures protection from unfriendly spirits of the sea.

After this, the dragon of a newly-built dragon boat must be given ‘life’ at another Taoist ceremony. A few days before the festival he stabs a sword into a fu zhou (paper with ‘magic’ words written on it) while chanting prayers. The dragon’s head, tail and drum are touched with the sword, paper money is burnt again and ‘magic’ sand sprinkled on the dragon head. In a variation, pomelo leaves dipped in ‘holy’ water are run down the sides of the boat. Lastly, a respected community member is asked to dot the eyes of the dragon, where they will later be drawn in with red paint.

In some villages, Ah Fat describes how a virgin boy would be sent out before a race to a nearby hillside or mountain to collect armloads of long, green grass that was used as decoration on the boat’s dragon head. Though not generally still collected by prepubescent boys, this grass adornment can still be seen during modern competitions.

And on race day, there’s also the practice of putting a heap of fresh ginger into the mouth of the wooden dragon before a race as a symbol that says, “We have a lot of guts, we’re not just normal guys and we’re gonna’ win!” which Ah Fat (who makes a ‘pumping iron’ gesture describing it) and some members of his paddle club still like to practise occasionally. Finally to put the dragon to ‘sleep’ after the race, the head, tail and drum are returned to the temple or other holy place where incense is burnt to thank the gods.

According to Ah Fat, another tradition widely practised until about 100 years ago had to do with how the boat was stored at the end of the season. Because the boats were entirely made of wood, they would often warp and crack with the changes in humidity so it became an established practice to sink the boats to the bottom of the river or sea bed by loading them up with stones or bury them in trenches until the following season. They were then resurrected, painted with a protective varnish and put on the water, ready for the races. He says much of that care also came about because the boats were made of cheaper, lighter wood
and often only lasted about two to three years.

Nowadays dragon boats are mainly built in Shau Kei Wan, Aberdeen, Sai Kung, and on the Mainland, though many of the new fibreglass boats are made in Guangdong province, where the national team is also located. Fibreglass boats are popular among festival organizers because they are cheaper to build, maintain and repair.

Ah Fat says that outside of increased worldwide popularity and changes in dragon boat construction, one of the most noticeable changes in recent years is the disappearance of phoenix boats, smaller vessels strictly for women to race in with a phoenix head and tail affixed to the ends instead of a dragon’s. At one time these were needed, he says, because women were not permitted to go anywhere near a dragon boat until about 25 years ago.

“[Women] weren’t allowed to even touch the dragon boat or walk past the head,” Ah Fat says. “And nowadays women actually get to paddle in mixed-boat teams – so that’s a big difference.” He notes that many of the 50-man, large dragon boat teams still won’t allow women on their boats, considering the women’s ‘yin’ unbalances the ‘yang’ of the dragon boat, since it is the symbol of the emperor. “That’s still very sacred for a lot of people, though it’s starting to change,” he says.

Currently, three types of dragon boats are used in international races: a small boat that seats 13, a medium vessel for 24 and a large boat demanding 48 paddlers. Strict regulations from the International Dragon Boat Association (IDBA) govern each boat’s dimensions and weight even down to the paddles. Dragon boating is a full-fledged industry now, with clubs and races all over the world, from Uganda to Dubai, with thousands of paddlers circling the planet to compete with one another.

Yet, for Ah Fat, even getting to travel to the far reaches of the globe cannot compare with what he loves best about his home-grown pastime: the community. His favourite competition of the year, he says, are “the fishermen’s races, because that is what I’ve been brought up doing. [There] it’s mostly all fishermen families and the atmosphere is just different. It’s not people who train for a couple of months to compete at a race in Stanley – it’s a culture.”

And with that, voices begin yelling for Ah Fat from the loading dock below, where a mid-sized practice boat is filled with fellow paddlers waiting for their last man. He quickly rises from his seat and smiles politely before racing down the stairs and onto the awaiting boat. In a flash, he’s seated with paddle in hand, pushing off into evening waters...