The wild side of the USVI
Story and photos by Ted Alan Stedman
U.S. Virgin Islands -- It's an extraordinary tropical evening in St. Thomas, where reflections of a razor crisp crescent moon and the glow of an exaggerated Venus shimmer on the calm Caribbean Sea.
In other words, the perfect ambiance to bring out the nightlife. And let me say, night time around here fosters some odd intimacies.
For two hours now I've watched the island's nocturnal undersea denizens slither, slink, lurk and prowl about in the languid waters of Hull Bay. Then just before last call to shore, I spot the most curious couple.
At about 15 feet, in an underwater grotto illuminated by my diver's flashlight, I'm watching a bold little fellow who's something of a marine dental pic. Darndest thing you ever saw: a beautifully colored shrimp no more than three inches long, pincers flailing, busily scouring and consuming the detritus from the gapping toothy maw of a submissive moray eel.
"That was a banded coral shrimp cleaning the eel's teeth – a symbiotic relationship in nature," Homer Calloway, my snorkeling chaperone and owner of Homer's Incredible Night Snorkel Adventures, informs me at the surface.
Exactly the stuff that makes night snorkeling a singular experience, he says. "You see lobsters, sting rays, squid and eels -- things you don't normally see during daylight. You won't see the tons of fish that you would during the day, but you see different marine life. People usually don't think of going out at night, and they're surprised at the difference." Amen to that.
Night snorkeling with Homer seemed a fitting, eloquent conclusion to a week-long ramble in the U.S. Virgin Islands where I and nine itinerate friends from the U.S. mainland experienced St. Thomas and St. John by land, by sea and even by air.
It was an ambitious activity agenda, the antithesis to the plop-by-the-pool resort vacation doldrums. No trinket shopping, no slathered-up tan time by chlorinated pools, no mid-day indulgences in Margaritaville. Tough work, yes, but complaints were few. And we found that there's literally no end to the wilder side of the Virgin Islands.
Parasailing at Coki Point
We had a bird's eye view of Coki Point and Thatch Cay on St. Thomas' east end during a parasailing outing with Caribbean Water Sports. The thought of being towed on a 600-foot tether at 300 feet up can be unnerving – something to do with our survival instinct – but the truth is the experience was blissfully calm and easy on the adrenaline.
"People are always amazed at how quiet it is, and how much they can see, especially underwater," said Morgan Salmon, our twenty something crew member in charge with fitting our parasail harnesses and hoisting us aloft.
My partner, New Yorker Megan Padilla, and I took the tandem approach, achieved lift off and whizzed out like a kite in a hurricane until we were at full altitude. From our vantage, we could see the entire east end of St. Thomas and the nearby cays. And just as promised, the hushed silence treated us to 10 minutes of contemplative splendor.
But here's something to remember: parasailing protocol demands that flyers take a dip in the drink. In our case, the obligatory dunking -- the boat slows until you gently touch down in the sea – netted no water in the nostrils or other areas, just good fun. Our captain had the moves down pat, and in seconds we were back up, air drying, before getting reeled in like big fish. Moments before touch down we saw two huge leatherback turtles in a matrimonial embrace -- the exclamation point to our parasailing adventure.
Hiking Megans Bay Trail
A trip to St. Thomas has to include a day at Megans Beach, which National Geographic has named one of the top ten most beautiful beaches in the world. Our plan for hitting the beach, though, began 1.5 miles inland and 500 feet up in the Megans Bay Nature Preserve, land administered by The Nature Conservancy.
Our half-day excursion was billed at the Tropical Discovery Tour, lead by Virgin Islands Ecotours and naturalist Dagmar Sigurdardottir, an Icelandic transplant who admittedly favors the tropics over permafrost.
"We're contracted to conduct tours to raise money to support and maintain the land and help the Nature Conservancy preserve the area," she explained. "The preserve is a fantastic way to see the historical landmarks within the property, and how the land is returning to its natural state."
The 250-year old trail opened to the public in 2002 and follows old routes established by early Danish settlers. Most roads through St. Thomas follow donkey cart routes built from the late 1600s that were used for agricultural purposes, with sugar cane being the primary crop. The Nature Conservancy land was no exception and served as a working plantation until the 1800s.
Our Megans Bay trek introduced us to a number of Virgin Island critters, birds like the gorgeous yellow banaquit and clamorous brown throated parakeet. All the while, Dagmar pointed out how the land is slowly healing from its plantation days. Wide swaths of denuded forest are beginning to mount a comeback, even coveted hardwoods like guavaberry -- the oldest trees on the island, used in tarts, jams and as the main ingredient in guavaberry wine.
"Historically St. Thomas received 80 inches of rain a year, now it's 40, and the tropical rainforest is now a 'moist' tropical forest," she explained. No finger pointing at global warming this time, because the cause is clear. "When settlers cut the hilltop trees, they inadvertently removed the rain catchers. Without the trees, rainclouds don't release their moisture."
That may be, but on this sweltering day my perspiration overload could offset the difference. When the trail finally spit us out at Megans Beach, we relished the cool ocean breeze and refreshing lagoon swims.
It's easy to understand the allure of Megans Beach. Think of the quintessential desert island, with powdered sugar white sand beaches, coconut and palm trees arching out over turquoise waters, and azure blue skies. I'm not sure there could be a better place to end a nature hike, and sitting in the shade of palms, with fresh mango, pineapple and lemongrass tea awaiting us, we were happy hikers all.
Scuba off St. John
For scuba divers, St. John has a number of things going for it. Besides the obvious Caribbean ingredients like warm temps, a kaleidoscope of marine life, excellent visibility and tons of close dive sights, there's lots of shallow water diving.
"Many people like that – you can get in two dives before lunch, and the light on the coral in shallow water is fantastic for colors," explained Bob Shinner, dive master and owner of Low Key Watersports, our group's pick.
We headed out to a location that served up the essential diver's menu: Carval Rock, a challenging current dive with a "fishy" reputation, meaning the best chance to see big fish like tarpon that chase baitfish.
Carval Rock reminds you of a ring-toss game. The core – Carval Rock – juts up out of the water and has a surrounding base of a coral valley. Dive guide Kristin Hollingsworth – yes, another twenty something -- instructed our group to swim clockwise around the rock, hard and fast over a ridge formation until we dropped down to the coral and a reverse archway.
Everything smoothed out at about 25 feet, where I suddenly became surrounded by a bait ball made up of tens of thousands of 3- and 4-inch silver side fish. I was totally surrounded, then as I propelled myself forward, they parted just enough to make a sort of halo. It was an incredible sensation, like something I’d seen on Animal Planet. It was also incredible that a nearby school of huge tarpon – looking a bit like fat, silvery barracuda with prehistoric-looking heads -- had spooked the fish into their defense bait ball position. I was pretty sure I was in the middle of their dinner -- tarpon and silver sides go hand-in-hand. Carval Rock had again lived up to its fishy reputation.
Night snorkeling in Hull Bay
During our two-hour offshore excursion with Homer's Incredible Night Snorkel Adventures, we racked up a boatload of Jacques Cousteau moments. Spotted sea hares that spew purple ink, prickly sea urchins that slowly waltz across your outstretched hand, darting squid as fast as arrows, brilliantly colored lobsters hidden among the rocky alcoves, menacing looking eels peering from their lairs, big fish and little fish the colors of a rainbow – JC's Undersea World was thriving in Hull Bay.
And I discovered the answer to one of life's perplexing questions: fish DO sleep. Proof was the boisterously colored parrot fish we saw laying down on a bed of coral, enveloped by a transparent bubble of its own mucous that keeps its wafting scent from alerting would-be predators.
If we any qualms about night snorkeling, the affable Homer Calloway put them to rest. Calloway, a PADI scuba instructor, shepards his groups like flocks of defenseless sheep.
First came the safety orientation, and the offer to tote along asthmatic, diabetic and other emergency medications in a dry box stowed on a towed rest float that's always within easy grab distance. Then we were outfitted with all the necessary gear, including the luminescent night sticks attached to our snorkels that let him and his trailing assistant keep track of the paired teams.
It's a whimsical spectacle – the neon-hued purple-, green-, red- and orange-lit snorkels silently meandering like luminescent submarines periscopes under a wonderfully starry West Indies sky. It's keepsake moment, one that I want to stash in a bottle and keep forever.
Better yet, I'll just come back.
More info on how to get to the islands, what to do there and where to stay: www.visitusvi.com
Trekking in Virgin Islands National Park
St. John is known as "the park island." Two-thirds -- about 13,000 acres, plus 5,000 offshore acres – of St. John are preserved as the Virgin Islands National Park. And it's where we met with A Walk In The Park, an eco tour and adventure outfit owned and operated by Jim McDonald, another twenty something refuge from the U.S. Mainland.
Our hike on the Cinnamon Bay Trail, one of the Park's 22 nature trails, plumbed the depths of the Caribbean forest, dropping 850 feet in just over a mile on its rendezvous with the sea. McDonald is the perfect guide, part naturalist, part adventurer, with a good sense of the park's history.
"Sugar cane was the main commerce prior to slave revolt in 1848," he explained, "and after Laurence Rockefeller deeded his holdings to the government in 1956, tourism really took off." In 1976, UNESCO designated the area a Biosphere Reserve site, paving the way for long-term preservation status, he said.
With McDonald's help, the Cinnamon Bay Trail treated us to an admirable eco-learning experience. "See that tree," he said, pointing to a fierce looking specimen festooned with dagger-like spikes. "It's called the monkey-no-climb tree, and with is protective armor, no one touches it and it's become a survivor species." More guavaberry trees, mango trees, and the marvelously aromatic bay rum tree whose leaves are used in fragrances, soaps and flavored rums, lined our path to the sea.
At just over one mile, we encountered the ruins of the Cinnamon Bay Estate, crumbling rock walls, basins and stacks where settlers processed sugar cane. As we checked out the ruins, several mongooses scurried around – vestiges of early settlers' unsuccessful attempts to rid the island of rats that stowed away on arriving ships. "The problem is rats are nocturnal, mongooses are day predators, so the rats aren't affected, and now we have both," McDonald lamented.
A few hundred yards further we landed at the picturesque Cinnamon Bay beach, another Caribbean jewel with all the ingredients for a Robinson Crusoe novel.
Forget the fact that Cinnamon Bay is on the Atlantic side of St. John – it's full-splendor Caribbean, hemmed in by two protective points, backed by lush forest, and in previous times, had its own tumbling creek. No wonder Cinnamon was a favorite put-in for swarthy pirates.
