The CARIBBEAN’S BEST-KEPT SECRET
Dominica’s pristine island is a playground for hikers, divers and swimmers. Don’t confuse it with the Dominican Republic.
The sun beats down on my sweaty top half while my legs go numb underwater. A cave mouth yawns at the far end of the shallow turquoise pool I’m standing in. “Watch out for the current!” a guide yells at a half-dozen tourists who make their tentative way toward the opening in the rock face. “You’ll have to fight it!”
I notice the tourists all wear flotation devices around their waists. I do not. Nor do I have a guide. Also, we only just finished lunch, which included a couple of very punchy rum punches.
There are no signs identifying what I’d heard called “the swim of a lifetime,” but I’m here at Titou Gorge on Dominica (pronounced Domi-NEE-ka), a small Caribbean island whose name often gets it confused with the Dominican Republic.
“It’ll be narrow and dark!” the guide continues with what must be the world’s worst-ever pitch. “But just keep going!”
I’m Canadian; I can handle a bit of cold water, I tell myself. And strong current? Can’t be worse than the average undertow. But narrow and dark as well? Why am I doing this again, exactly?
I look around for my two companions, music journalists who are visiting the island, like me, for the annual World Creole Music Festival. Martei, the dreadlocked Jamaican, is still on land, fiddling with his underwater camera. Jesse, a pale Floridian, is dipping a toe in the pool, then yelping a couple of bad words.
Meanwhile, the guide’s disembodied voice echoes from inside the gorge. “There’s nowhere to stop and rest till you’re inside, so whatever you do, just keep moving!”
And suddenly, the last tourist has been swallowed by the cave mouth.
Tired of waiting for Martei and Jesse, I take the plunge, cross the pool and enter the gorge — and it’s exactly as advertised: I can’t see a thing, the water is bone-chillingly cold, and I have to kick like mad just to keep from going backward. “Titou” is the word for it, all right: It means “small throat” in the local Creole.
But a few minutes later, my eyes adjust, and by reaching out both arms, I can touch the walls that undulate a good six metres up to a sliver of sky. A few minutes and strong kicks later, and the narrow passage opens into a chamber bathed in greenish light filtered through a canopy of trees that arch over the cliff walls. Around one side, the tour group is standing on an underwater ledge outside the pull of the current.
There’s no room for me, so I aggressively tread water while the guide explains that the gorge was formed thousands of years ago when water flowing from a mountain lake cut through layers of volcanic rock, creating pools and falls along the way. Dominica is still being formed by volcanic activity, it turns out: Its nine volcanoes make getting anywhere, including here, an often tortuous drive through landscape so rugged, much of it is uninhabited. The result, though, is one of the most pristine islands in the world. Its six varieties of lush tropical forest, 365 rivers and 12 major waterfalls have earned it the moniker “The Nature Island.”
“This is only the first chamber,” the guide concludes, “but proceed at your own risk. Please head back if you’re not a strong swimmer.”
Most float back; a couple continue. I hang out on the ledge until Martei and Jesse finally appear, Jesse still swearing about the water temperature.
When the last of the tour group empties out, the three of us forge on. We pass through another chamber, then another, until we finally see it: a short but powerful waterfall at the far end. The current is so strong here, we keep to the sides to avoid being swept away. And we have to yell to hear each other above the roar.
It’s then I notice the rope, slightly to one side. With great difficulty, we manage to pull ourselves up, one by one, fighting the water that threatens to slam us into the side wall. When we finally make it up and over, we’re in another small chamber, fed by yet another waterfall. By now, the noise is so deafening and the current so powerful, we can barely move, much less talk.
Instead, we balance on the lip of the first waterfall and jump into the pool below. It’s deep enough to dive in, so we do. We jump and dive, hauling ourselves up the rope over and over. It’s deliriously fun. When we’re finally disgorged back into the sunlit pool, we’re surprised to learn we’ve been inside nearly two hours.
But the loveliness doesn’t end there. What we hadn’t noticed before is a small, steaming waterfall off to the side of the pool, with a seat for one hewn into the rock. The water comes from a geothermal spring. We take turns under the hot shower until it’s time to go — just as another tour group arrives.
Yet you can’t call this island touristy. The reason we’re here is the tourism authority would very much like Dominica to become as well-known as its neighbours: Guadeloupe, Antigua and Barbuda to the north; Martinique, St. Lucia and Barbados to the south. The reason for its relative obscurity may lie in its volcanic origins: You’re more likely to find black-sand beaches than white, and the best spots for snorkelling tend to be off rough, rocky shorelines. Nor is it overrun with large resorts; with a few exceptions, much of the accommodation is on the basic side.
That said, there’s no question that Dominica deserves a lot more love, at least as an ecotourism destination. Hikers, especially, will swoon over Dominica’s pride and joy: the 200-kilometre-long Wai’tukubuli Trail that traverses the entire island, south to north. While seasoned trekkers can attempt the whole thing in a couple of weeks, it’s divided into ❚ Freshwater Lake: Dominica’s largest lake is high in the Morne Trois Pitons National Park, a World Heritage site. Walking around the lake takes about an hour, and kayaks are available for $10 US per hour. An interpretative centre will help you identify the many species of birds that call this peaceful spot home. Pack a rain jacket, since the weather here is unpredictable. ❚ Scotts Head: At the southern tip of the island, a narrow strip of land separates the Caribbean from the Atlantic. For a spectacular view, cross the isthmus and climb to the lookout, an old British fort where rusty cannons still point over Soufrière Bay, now a protected marine reserve with prime spots for diving and snorkelling. (Free) ❚ Cabrits National Park: Located on a scenic peninsula on the northwest coast, this park contains Fort Shirley, a large 18th-century British garrison that once housed 600 soldiers 14 segments that are graded, from easy to advanced. I hiked the “easy” 10th segment through mountainous rainforest, picking ripe grapefruits, tangerines, guavas and wild strawberries along the way. During our two-and-a-half-hour hike, my naturalist guide and I met only a handful of locals.
This was a recurring theme almost everywhere on the island. Granted, the surf was particularly rough due to hurricane Sandy, but snorkelling one windy afternoon at Champagne Reef (so named for the bubbles emitted by geothermic vents under the ocean floor, making you feel like you’re swimming in a glass of champagne) was a solitary experience, save for a regular visitor from Guadeloupe.
( While I caught sight of some colourful reef fish, on calm days, divers can expect to see an interesting variety of marine life attracted to the hot water, including flying gurnards, frogfish, sea horses, and hawksbill and green turtles.)
(A one-and-a-half-hour guided snorkel is $17 US, a one-tank dive is $60 US.)
And at a charming spot called Tia’s Sulphur Springs (which also features bamboo cottages in a beautiful garden setting), Martei, Jesse and I had the natural multi-tiered pools practically to ourselves. ($5 US)
Yet another watery experience verged on the mystical. In northwest Dominica near the town of Portsmouth, a lazy way to while away an afternoon is to row, row, row your boat gently down the still, green, mangrove-lined waters of Indian River. My oarsman was the incongruously named “Cobra” O’Brien, who boasted very large biceps and a formidable knowledge of the surrounding flora and fauna. Again, we encountered not another soul. (Approximately $17 US)
One jarring exception was our visit to the magnificent Trafalgar Falls, located a mere 20-minute drive from where cruise ships dock several times a week. Happily, it was possible to escape the crowds by hiking from the busy lookout to the base of the falls and taking a refreshing dip in the pool beneath. But getting there over moss-covered stones and massive boulders is arduous and slippery, so wear proper shoes and watch your step. ($5 US or free with a weeklong pass)
OTHER PLACES WELL WORTH CHECKING OUT
and which is now an open-air museum. Before you take in the views overlooking the bay, check out the visitors’ centre, with its excellent exhibit on the island’s history. ($5 US, or free with a week site pass) ❚ Papillotte Wilderness Retreat’s tropical gardens: Even if you don’t stay here, it’s worth the $10 US to tour the retreat’s botanical gardens with gardener Marcel Florent. Trails criss-cross cold and hot mineral streams that flow around mosses, ferns and orchids, while traveller’s palms, fern trees, and giant plum trees tower overhead. It’s a true Garden of Eden.