NATURE ISLAND
The Caribbean’s uncommon draw.
The car follows a twisting road through rain forest and between jagged mountains. My hands grip the dashboard — not because the driver is reckless but because the vehicle is rarely level on this journey.
“You see, the island is mountainous,” the guide, Zahir, says. “When you’re not going up, you’re going down.”
In fact, the Kalinago people who predated Columbus’ “discovery” of Dominica in 1493 called their island home Waitukubuli — meaning, “tall is her body.”
Geologically speaking, Dominica is the youngest of the Windward Islands in the Caribbean, and the volcanic forces that created it are still at work, inspiring a variety of landscapes: volcanoes, rivers, waterfalls, deep gorges and the world’s second-largest fumarole. Even underwater, where curtains of bubbles rise up from the sea floor as gases escape subterranean vents, evidence of volcanic life is ever present.
The topography is one reason Dominica lags behind its neighbors in number of residents as well as visitors. It was the last Caribbean island to be colonized (in 1763, by the British). The interior and eastern coast were difficult to traverse, allowing the Kalinago (also known as Carib) and Creole peoples to retain much of their distinct
culture. The Ministry of Tourism didn’t even exist until the late 20th century.
Many know Dominica as the Nature Island because of its volcanic physique and diversity of natural features — which lure adventure seekers, although not the traditional Caribbean tourist, due to the lack of all-inclusive resorts, swim-up bars and loungechair-studded beaches.
Here, hikers and divers abound, and they’re perfectly happy to keep the natural beauty and hot springs to themselves. It’s the kind of place where your best souvenir doesn’t come from a shop, but from experiencing the natural resources of the island itself.
There aren’t many shops, anyway. Trails and turtles
Only a few minutes on the Waitukubuli National Trail, and the rain forest closes in around me. In exchange for the sounds of people and cars, the air is filled with birdsong. Like a gang of teenagers interrupting a symphony, the squawks of native sisserou and jaco parrots temporarily take over.
The sisserou, the country’s national bird, is featured on Dominica’s flag. Two of the parrots are hanging upside down about 10 feet above me, distracted by ripe fruit. Their colors remind me of a child’s indulgent crayon scribbles: deep green and vivid purple feathers tipped in black, vermilion and turquoise wingtip streaks, and an orange iris.
Tropical rain forests cover two-thirds of the island, and one of the best ways to get a look at much of it is to hike the Waitukubuli National Trail. The Caribbean’s first long-distance walking trail, it stretches for 115 miles from the extreme north to the southern edge of Dominica. The trail is marked in segments for those who don’t want to hike its entire length.
My current choice, Segment 10, runs from Colihaut Heights to Syndicate. It’s a short distance (just under 4 miles) and cuts through a region that’s home to the parrots, purple-throated Carib hummingbirds and the occasional land crab scuttling across the trail.
This segment, a reclaimed agricultural road, was once used heavily for transporting produce from the rugged interior to the coast. Today, along the entire route, I see no other human.
Later that evening, I go to bed earlier than usual, with the promise that someone will knock on my door if turtles are spied on Rosalie Bay’s black sand beach. The Rosalie Sea Turtle Initiative includes night patrol during nesting season, beach cleanup, education programs and data collection. In 2003, there were only seven leatherback nests. By 2010, there were 69 nests of three species of sea turtles (green, hawksbill and leatherback).
The knock comes, and I quickly pull clothes on in the dark and walk down the beach with my flashlight. There are three female leatherbacks laboring at digging their nests, and while they’re busy, I help workers take their measurements. My fingers graze the turtles’ skin, which feels like wet rubber and looks like the night sky scattered with stars.
It takes hours. I stay with the turtles until they turn back toward the sea. When the last one is gone, I shuffle across the dark sand, back to my cottage. Up the Indian River
My boat captain’s name is Fire. He sits in the bow of the brightly painted rowboat, his dreadlocks twisting in a dozen directions. Fire points out a stand of wild cane, known as roseau reeds, and explains they’re the reason Dominica’s capital city was named Roseau.
“The Caribs used that cane for fishing pots,” he explains. “The Indian River was named after them. They lived, fished and traveled by boat here.”
Gnarled tree roots plunge into the ghostly green water. When I look closely, I spy land crabs hiding among the nooks created by the buttress roots. Perched above, a green-backed heron eyes the crustaceans. Most of them are nearly as large as the bird. The only sounds we hear are the splash of the oars in the river.
Portions of “Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest” were filmed along the Indian River, as the remote location of Tia Dalma’s shack. Fire says he knows exactly where, but we miss the spot among the trees the first time, and after backtracking, he’s sure that this, yes this, is really where the shack stood before being dismantled.
We disembark upriver, at the Indian River Bush Bar, for a brief rest before traveling back. The chalkboard menu lists two rum punches of the day: passion fruit punch, and something called Dynamite. Its explosive name begs a taste.
“What’s in the Dynamite?” I ask the bartender.
“Rum,” he answers, and shrugs. “The rest is surprise.”
The resulting mix of lime, passion fruit, gooseberry, cinnamon and local cask rum deserves its name. I have two.
Before we leave, I buy a coconut shell bracelet made by a man named JohnI. After I choose the right one, he wraps it gently in a leaf and hands it to me.
“When someone asks you where you got it,” he says, “that’s when the good vibes come: the memory of the Nature Island.” Journey to Boiling Lake
Back in the car with Zahir the next morning, we traverse a “broken piece” of road — a dry riverbed where there is no asphalt. Zahir explains that today’s hike will be dirty and difficult, but promises that we’ll make a stop for a refreshing drink afterward.
A six-hour round trip over challenging terrain, the hike to the Boiling Lake in the Morne Trois Pitons National Park ranks as one of Dominica’s most demanding trails. The first hour meanders through rain forest and rises gradually from 1,690 feet to 2,260 feet before dropping toward the Trois Pitons River, called the Breakfast River because it’s often the first stop for a snack. Because the sky is gray and it’s already begun to rain lightly, Zahir and I continue without stopping.
We follow a ridge as the vegetation changes from rain forest to montane forest. At 3,160 feet is a lookout with views across the national park, but mist descends along the trail and I can only see pieces of the emerald peaks, until they are shrouded in fog.
The trail then dips into the Valley of Desolation. Volcanic activity in Dominica has changed this once-forested area into a strange, rocky landscape of gray and gold, dotted with grasses, mosses and lichens.
A flooded fumarole, the Boiling Lake appears at the end of the trail like a cauldron of gray-blue water enveloped in a veil of vapor, until a breeze comes along to blow the cloud away. While chatter abounds on the trail, all hikers are quiet near the water, as if straining to hear the bubbling sound.
A few hours later, after our return hike, Zahir and I sit in a bar with bottles of Dominican Kubuli beer. On the label is a map of the island, which looks somewhat like a person standing up. My finger traces through the condensation on the label, along the map of the ground I’ve covered on my adventures, from the black sand beach to the Waitukubuli National Trail to the Indian River and the Boiling Lake.
Tall is her body, indeed.