The coastal roads on either side of St Vincent do not go all around the. The northern slopes of the Suffriere Volcano complex are steep, and there is no inducement to settlement on these slopes except for - well that's another story. Lets say, these slopes are of special interest only to some special farmers who don't want or need any roads. So there is a gap between Richmond on the leeward side and Fancy, the northernmost village on the windward side. But there is a trail between Fancy and the Falls of Balleine. The latter are usually reached by boat only from the leeward side and are one of the major tourist destinations of St. Vincent.

Why use a boat when you can walk there? In January 1994, shortly after arriving in St. Vincent, the local Hash House Harrier club had scheduled a hike to the falls, and I joined them. I did not yet have a car, but transportation was arranged. More about the Hash House Harrier at another time and site - but let me emphasize that they have nothing to do with consuming, selling or producing hash! There were only about 10-12 of us, it was not really a typical hashing affair with backchecks and trail running, I myself felt like a foreign body because their hospitality was not of the expected hashing kind, but the trip served me well to know about the trail - I would try it again later myself. The only memorable part of the trip in the end - except for the good exercise and the interesting vistas along the way - were that several wild growing mango tries were producing ripe fruit which I consumed voraciously (my first SVG mangoes!), and on the way home I had to cram into a jeep, the ride home being almost pure torture.

A year later, when Peter and Philip, then 13, were here with me, I was going to repeat the trip. Sylvia, a local lady, was going to join us. This trip turned into a small adventure!

The trail starts at the end of the village of Fancy. The drive up there is interesting and very scenic, the last 10 km being on a very rough, narrow, unpaved road. The last villages (Sandy Bay, Owia, Fancy) were and still are inhabited by Black Caribs - an old indigenous people whose facial features can be readily distinguished from those of the African Blacks. A sign reminds you of the famous folk hero Chief Chattoway who battled with the British - more about that another time. The vehicle can take you to the end of the village - that time I actually drove for another half km on a brushy road to the high point visible from the village where the road definitely stops and a trail begins. From that high point one has a wonderful view over Fancy, the surrounding mountain slopes and fields of arrow root, peanuts, root crops, bananas and coconut trees as well as over the sea, usually generating whitewash along the rocky beaches making it difficult for the local fishermen to launch their wooden boats. Towards the north on usually can also see the "Pitons", two steep mountain structures, on the distant island of St. Lucia. The sea at the north end of St. Vincent and the crossing to St. Lucia are reputed to be rough at times: Sailors are advised to reef their sails before hitting the open water from out of the shadowed windward side, and some time later we once sailed around the island and encountered long, high waves coming from aft, the dinghy shooting down the waves behind us and almost crashing into the boat hull.

With that we left. The trail begins downward back to sea level to a rocky beach, some primitive wooden canoe contraptions being stored their above the wave level by some locals, used for canoeing around the shore waters and bays for fishing. They looked heavy and not too seaworthy, but you see them used often.

The trail climbs again some 200 m up to another ridge. I heard some first complaints from my crew and, with pleasure, had to push Sylvia up over a stretch of steep rock. They all needed a break at this point - I guess to enjoy the breath taking view over the ocean and across to St. Lucia. By now it was about 10:30 am or so, and the sun became hot under the cloudless sky. The trail continued easier, soon to enter the cover of trees including from one of those mango trees, now regrettably without fruit.

At times the trail split: usually it is the right branch one should take, the others leading up some clearings where life stock could still graze or maybe some of the special farmers did their cultivating. Often the trail was quite grown in, fortunately not with any stinging bushes or nettles, just wild shrubbery. In and out of gullies, some ups and downs, often somewhat slippery where the trail edge had broken away in steep terrain. I had remembered well, from the first trip, some of the turns to take, but eventually we did take a wrong one, following the better cleared, recognizable track, suddenly ending up in the middle of a marihuana plantation. And we were not alone: Under a shed, shaded by trees, two young fellows were busy bundling their weed. My immediate reaction was that they might not like us, but they acted friendly and I asked them whether they'd mind me taking some video shots. They didn't, and I took a few shots of the foot-high marihuana plants.

We told them that they were careless cleaning out their trail and leaving the one to the falls overgrown - every hiker would end up in their patch and see their illegal operation. But maybe that's what they wanted because they asked whether we had any needs - but they accepted it when I pointed out that we did not consume any of their products ever. They then directed us into the right direction which brought us close to another farmer's plot. This one was not so friendly and waved and cursed us off - but we acted inoffensively and minded our own business. This was not the Colombian jungle where intruders probably would not fare so well.

( A few weeks later I thought of these fellows carving out a living for themselves - not many other chances existing for them - when US Army helicopters were parked at the airport and later flew local law enforcers into the hills trying to stamp out some of the businesses, spray their plantations and track them down).

Eventually we were back on track, passed a few more mango and plumrose trees as well as a patch of prickly palms, sections of rain forest and mostly brushy trail, always pushing vegetation out of our way, up and down, sweat dripping. The trail remained well above sea level after the first beach. My companions all kept up well, not too many complaints. After about two hours we reached the final slope down to the falls - a long descent on a slippery trail through headhigh grasses. And then we reached the mouth of the little river coming from the falls, emptying into a small bay lined by a huge rock wall across.

One has to step into the river and cross over, and then it is about 200 m up the river on a fortified trail to the falls - spectacularly dropping from high up into a huge punch bowl. Peter and Philip climbed up on the rocks right under the falls for a dive, and we all enjoyed the cool water which seemed perfectly pure and clean for drinking.

At the mouth of the river there is a small beach but no good anchorage, and all boat visitors have to swim to shore. I had come here several times by boat. Once the waves were so high, nobody dared to leave the boat. Eventually I tried it and literally body-surfed onto the beach. But usually the waves are benign and all visitors get to come to shore and enjoy the scene of the falls. The following summer a land slide had occurred obliterating some of the punch bowl under the falls with tree trunks and debris and taking out some of the access trail, but most of that has been fixed again. However, this should be a warning! During inclement weather the gorge and punchbowl are not a safe place for hanging around!

How were we all going to fit in his little boat? There were we two adults, the two young boys and he and his mate. All in one small dinghy? Oh well, I thought, this Mr. Rastaman Williams certainly must be a seasoned sailor who knew what his boat could do and how rough the seas would be around here - one has to have faith. And faith was what I needed then, because somehow I sensed a mismatch between boat size and passenger numbers.

To start, things looked alright. There were swells but not too high and for my fellow hikers it sure was a relief not to have to return on foot. As we rounded the first point after some 3-500 m, alongside vertical walls with whitewash and rough rock, I sensed that the wind picked up some, that the swells became higher and more irregular. Sylvia grabbed a small plastic scoop to bail out water swapping into the boat. I was not too much concerned. I figured that a rubber dinghy is a seaworthy craft, waves or no waves, and that we did not have to go too far anyway. The hike had taken some 2 hours, and the direct distance could only be 5 km in all.

But soon we rounded another point and the conditions changed drastically. The white wash along the rock shore became more substantial and inhospitable. Wind blew straight at us, waves now were higher and more choppy. Bailing was necessary all the time, and I began to scour the shoreline for possible landing opportunities should we need one. Turning back, something that I thought of by now, seemed a risky undertaking because it would place the craft broadside to the waves. The engine was weak and we certainly could not go fast - and moving into the wind, Williams, a smile frozen onto his boyish face, actually had to throttle it and slow down . After passing this second point it became clear that we were in some sort of trouble: Bailing could not keep up with the amount of water running into the boat.

We managed to recover all our gear including shoes. Williams and his mate pushed the boat back into the water and the two of them managed without too much difficulty to set to sea and tucker back to Fancy, leaving us four behind, now about halfway back, still a good hour of up and down hiking to do. To me the inconvenience of being wet and having to walk with soaking shoes seemed a minor inconvenience considering that we had just escaped a potentially very nasty situation and accepted the need to still have to hike back half the distance as punishment for being so stupid and trust Williams back there at the falls!

The next repeat was in the fall of 98 when I went with 12 of our students. I had warned them that we needed a team of strong hikers on this trail and that I did not want to manage 20 or more of them, like on the volcano hikes, because we might spend hours waiting for slow hikers on a trail where one can get lost, at least for a while.

Looking at the hikers, did I see some tired faces, or did they try to fool me? Why were those students talking so intently to a bunch of local guys who had come to the falls by fishing boats from Sandy Bay? A sneaky deal was struck: they all contracted the boats for a ride back. So, only three of us opted for the hike back. One was a Kenyan long distance runner whom I would never keep of with (or anyone else in the class) on a road run, and we had no problem doing good time together on the way back. The third person took a bit longer and I had to wait for him at one of the beaches while taking a long, pleasant swim in the calm sea, off a rocky beach.

We all reunited at the fist rum shop in downtown Fancy, and the drive home in the van was memorable only because a heavy downpour had made several of the river crossings impassable for a while, flashfloods running over the road threatening not so much to wash the bus off the road bed but to short out the distributor.

(Now I will ask whether some of them have some nice pictures, and I will paste them on this page as soon as I get to scan them, I promise!)

The End for Now!