Ryan Ho Kilpatrick

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  • Maritime history

Forgotten at Home, Hong Kong’s Iconic Junks Sail on in Foreign Waters

  • by Ryan Ho Kilpatrick
  • Posted on December 5, 2018
  • Islands

Hong Kong’s Outcast Islands

  • by Ryan Ho Kilpatrick
  • Posted on August 21, 2018
  • Islands

Hong Kong’s Disappearing Islands

  • by Ryan Ho Kilpatrick
  • Posted on August 1, 2018
  • Islands

On the Far Edge of Hong Kong, Unexpectedly Thriving Coral Reefs

  • by Ryan Ho Kilpatrick
  • Posted on July 4, 2018July 4, 2018
  • Eurasians

No Mixed Blood, No Mixed Bones

  • by Ryan Ho Kilpatrick
  • Posted on June 8, 2018
  • Marine conservation

There’s Something Fishy About China’s Salmon

  • by Ryan Ho Kilpatrick
  • Posted on May 30, 2018June 8, 2018
  • Marine conservation

Pressure Mounts to Take Blue Shark Off the Menu

  • by Ryan Ho Kilpatrick
  • Posted on May 24, 2018May 24, 2018

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“As for the fall, it began long ago. Can’t stop the rain; can’t stop the snow. I sit in my chair. I look at the street. The neighbour returns my smile of defeat. I move with the leaves. I shine with the chrome. I’m almost alive. I’m almost at home. No one to follow and nothing to teach—except that the goal falls short of the reach.” Tuen Mun to Yuen Long, the long way around.
Grazzi, Malta. It’s been real.
Sicilian scenes.
HMS Hellespont is one of Malta’s many WWII shipwrecks. A familiar site in Valletta’s Grand Harbour for over 20 years, the sea rescue paddle steamer tug was sunk during an Italian air bombardment in 1942—a year that saw this little island become the most bombed place on Earth. After the war, her mangled metal body was towed several nautical miles out to sea, where she now lies under 42m of dizzyingly blue and clear water. Dropping down the water column, the temperature plummets sharply from 28 degrees to a spine-chilling 17 on the rocky seabed. As her lines slowly come into focus, you begin to notice the details that make the Hellespont feel so much realer than bigger scuttled wrecks: the eratic scatter of debris that surrounds her, the thick layers of calcium carbonate concretions built up over decades, and the splayed metal ribs of her port bow still frozen in the moment she met her violent end.
Watercolours.
“Where unrecorded names and navies rust, and untold hopes and anchors rot; where in her murderous hold this frigate earth is ballasted with bones of millions of the drowned; there, in that awful water-land, there was thy most familiar home.” Written for the white whale but just as germane to the wreck-hunting ROV, our eyes in a world never before beheld by living men.

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