Ram Head And Salt Pond Bay

Hikers are a collegial bunch, and when they encounter other hikers in a new place they like to swap information about their hikes. On our hike to Saloman Beach we ran into a friendly couple from Nashville who raved about the Salt Pond Bay and Ram Head trail, so we had to try it on our last full day in St. John. It definitely ended our trip on a high note — literally.

The trail is found at the far southwestern tip of the island. It’s about as far away from Cruz Bay by car as you can get, but the drive is worth it. You begin by walking past the beach at Salt Pond Bay, which looks out onto the Caribbean and offers the calmest waters we found on the island. The beach is beautiful, placid, and secluded, and a treat for snorkeling and swimming after the hike.

As you walk down the beach, be sure to veer a few yards off the trail to the east and visit the Salt Pond that gives the Bay its name. You won’t find that beautiful blue Caribbean water here — or swimmers either, for that matter. The saline content of the pond is so high that the water is gold in color, and you can smell the salt. It’s a bizarre setting that would be an ideal location for a scene from a Star Trek episode.

The trail then starts to move up the finger of rock the forms the Ram Head Peninsula. To the west there’s a black pebble-strewn beach, shown in the first photo above, where each gentle wave causes a noticeable rock on rock clatter and people have positioned white rocks against the black stones of the beach to leave messages for hikers to come. To the east, where you can see the British Virgin Islands in the distance, the surf is crashing into sheer rock cliffs. It’s a total contrast to the gentle currents seen to the west.

As you move uphill, you’ll notice two things. First, you’re not seeing the tropical foliage that you’ve seen on every other hikes on the island. Instead, you’re in a treeless desert, with cactus and other desert plant life. And second, the wind is a force that scours the ground and leaves you walking on barren territory. There are lots of dramatic views, but don’t get too close, or you’ll risk losing your balance in a surprise gust. And be sure to take off your hat, or the wind will do it for you.

At the top of Ram Head you’re hundreds of feet above the water, on a rocky crag jutting our into the sea, with surf crashing far below, the wind whistling past, the sun glistening on the water, and a commanding view in all directions. It’s unnerving to be so exposed, but the views are irresistible, and you can’t help picking your way through the stunted cactus to a spot closer to the edge where the view might be just a little bit better.

At the very tip of Ram Head, on a tiny outcropping of rock, you can go no farther. You’re looking due south and that’s St. Croix on the horizon, dozens of miles away. The view is dramatic and mesmerizing, but after a few minutes of slack-jawed wonderment you realized you’re being buffeted by windy blasts just a few feet from a sheer plunge into rocks far below, holding your hat in a death grip, and you decide it’s time to carefully pick your way back down the peninsula to sea level. A swim in the calm and warm blue waters of Salt Pond Bay sounds awfully good right about now.

Red Jeep

On St John, you have three choices: stay at a place in Cruz Bay and stick in town during your visit, or use the taxi and bus service, or rent a car. We chose the latter option, and rented a bright red Jeep. As a result, we fit right in, because Jeeps probably make up more than half of the vehicles on the island.

Renting a car has pros and cons. On the con side, there’s lots of hairpin turns without fencing and straight uphill roads, and the occasional donkey or goat by the side of the road, so you have to watch it — especially at night. Plus, it’s the only territory under the U.S. flag where you drive in the left side of the road, which requires a lot of focus. All in all, it’s not exactly relaxing driving. But, it’s nice to have the freedom to go where you want when you want. If you like hiking and snorkeling and want to go to the out of the way places, as we did, a Jeep makes a lot of sense. We ended up glad we got it.

Why a Jeep, and why red? You need a car with power to be able to crawl straight uphill after one of those abrupt switchbacks. And I thought the red was just in line with the general theme of bright Caribbean colors — but I later learned there’s a safety reason, too. Other cars can see you through the green foliage, and if the approaching vehicle is a long truck that needs a lot of clearance on a turn, it can sound its horn before you’re trapped in the turn.

Plus, donkeys evidently like red.

Irma’s Aftermath

Hurricane Irma tore into St. John about 18 months ago. The island was in the wall of the eye of the storm for more than two hours. Survivors describe it as a truly harrowing experience.

Signs of the devastation wrought by the storm are still found all over the island — as is seen in the remains of the restaurant located next door to our lodging. The damage followed a distinct pattern. First the storm lifted the roofs off structures and blew out their windows, then it rained flying debris that knocked down walls, then the exposed innards of homes and buildings were exposed to drenching rain — which was compounded when another storm blew through the region about a week later and dumped still more rain.

But St. John has bounced back. Much of the damage has been fixed already, and repair work is underway elsewhere. In some cases, insurance snags have delayed the rebuilding efforts. Many of the residents who survived the storm and remained on the island will tell you it was a kind of rite of passage. Some people left, but those who stayed rolled up their sleeves, worked together to clear debris and help their neighbors, and jointly experienced the aftermath period when only generator power was available and you couldn’t buy a drink with ice. New and lasting friendships were formed, and you’ll hear people saying that the island is stronger than ever because of that.

We came to St. John for some sunshine and heat to break up the Midwestern winter, and we definitely got that — but we also got a lesson in the resilience of the human spirit.

Hilltopping

Over the weekend we set out on the Margaret Hill trail in a bid to scale the two tallest peaks in the western part of the island: Caneel Hill and Margaret Hill. Neither is particularly tall by the standards of, say, the Rockies or even the Appalachians. According to our excellent topographical map, available from the National Park Service for only $4.00, Caneel Hill is slightly less than 800 feet above sea level, and Margaret Hill is not quite 100 feet taller. But they certainly feel taller than that, as you scramble dead uphill from the trailhead on the northshore road, and they offer commanding views to the north and west.

To the north, pictured above, you see Whistling Cay to the left and, to the right and in the distance, you see the islands of the British Virgin Islands — or, to use the lingo of the locals, the BVI. Somewhere out there in the water the international boundary lurks, but the locals don’t seem to pay too much attention to it, especially if they are heading to the party beaches of Jost Van Dyke, which offers a kind of continuous spring break atmosphere.

From the lookout point rock atop Margaret Hill, show below, you get a bird’s eye view of the town of Cruz Bay and, off to the right, the island of St. Thomas, which is a part of the USVI. At night, the cruise ships, all lit up like floating Christmas trees steamy by St. John just to the left, south of the island, in a glittering single file parade. Who’d have thought there were so many cruise ships?

The path down Margaret Hill leads to the Caneel Bay resort, still closed in the wake of Hurricane Irma, which pulverized the island some 18 months ago. Watch your step, because the footing on the way down can be treacherous — but the chance to be a hilltopper is worth it.

Free Range

There are chickens all over Cruz Bay, the largest town on St. John. Every morning, we hear the full-throated crowing of this strutting specimen and his fellow rooster friends with our morning coffee, and when we venture into town we see the chickens hunting and pecking pretty much everywhere. We’ve even noticed “native island chicken” on the menu of some of the restaurants we’ve visited.

The chickens of St. John could justifiably be called “free range” fowl. They aren’t cooped up and being fed some genetically modified feed to fatten them up; they’re totally on the loose and running free and eating whatever they can find. But being free also means dealing with danger. For the birds that means darting across roads that are jammed with cars and visitors and dodging the wheels of the colorful Jeeps and SUVs that are the vehicles of choice on this hilly island. As we saw to our sadness and regret one night, they don’t always make it.

Why does the St. John chicken cross the road? Because it’s hungry and willing to take the risk for the promise of food on the other side.

Redefining “Strenuous”

The hiking trails on St. John are rated by degree of difficulty. There are three ratings: easy, “moderate,” and “strenuous.” Most of the trails are rated strenuous, and we haven’t encountered an “easy” trail yet. I think all “easy” trails may involve boardwalks and be wheelchair accessible.

What distinguishes “moderate” and “strenuous ” is more elusive. The trail shown above is rated strenuous, and the trail pictured below is moderate. So far as I can tell, they both have more than their fair share of rocks, tree roots, and constant inclines. Perhaps moderate trail don’t exceed 45-degree inclines and only have so many rocks and roots per square foot.

“Strenuous”? Well, sometimes you won’t even see a recognizable trail, be prepared to huff and puff on the unending upward switchbacks, and on the way down bring a little mountain goat with you.

Which End Is Which?

On this morning’s hike we encountered this colorful critter puttering his way along the rocks on the slope of Margaret Hill. He was bright and highly visible against the gray granite and the backdrop of green plants and about the length and thickness of an index figure. Which end is the front, you ask? He was moving right to left, so you’ve got to think the red knob at the left end was its head — but then again it might have been trying to trick us by backing up.

Hiking The Reef Bay Trail

About two-thirds of the island of St. John is national parkland. As is the case with most national park properties, that means you’ll find ample hiking trails that allow you to get some exercise and feed your adventurous spirit at the same time.

Earlier this week we decided to tackle the Reef Bay trail, which begins at mile marker 5 on the Centerline Road, up in the hills that form the twisted spine of the island, and then heads through dense forest down to the beach far below. The hike has a deceptively bucolic beginning, with a tiny parking area that is filled with beautiful butterflies, but immediately takes you down a rugged path into the jungle. As you descend, following a winding path with a steep downward grade, you’ll see lots of trees and insects and tropical plants, along with national park information signs — many of which have been rendered largely illegible by the ravages of tropical heat, humidity and rain.

More than halfway down, there’s a spur to the trail that takes you to a double waterfall and some petroglyphs left by the indigenous people who lived here in the pre-Columbian, pre-colonial era, when the pools of fresh water were an important resource. You can reach the upper waterfall, shown in the first picture in this post, by following a crude trail that heads straight uphill and requires you to limbo under several fallen trees. Don’t flirt with the pooled water, though — it looks to be filled with leeches.

Many of the petroglyphs have been worn away by the tropical climate, but some are still distinct. The experts believe they were created by the Carib or Arawak people. What’s pictured here? I’m not sure, but some might see an ancient astronaut and his spacecraft. I was just grateful to find some remaining legacy of the people who lived happily in this part of the world before European invaders brought greed, slavery, and disease that decimated their civilization.

And speaking of colonialism, the trail then winds past the remains of a colonial sugar plantation, with its long-abandoned stone buildings now inhabited solely by hundreds of hermit crabs and a colossal insect nest, and then on down to Reef Bay, a pretty little beach on the south side of the island that looks out over the turquoise Caribbean Sea beyond. We rested here for a bit, drank our water, and enjoyed the scenery — which for one member of our party included a sighting of a shark swimming lazily through the shallow water near the beach. In the back of our minds we all knew, however, that while gravity was our friend on the way down the trail, the forces of nature would not be so kind on the uphill trudge.

Our Daily Rainbow

The rains come and go on St. John, but it’s not a big deal. The squalls are brief, the rain is warm, and rainbows — like this one this morning — are a frequent occurrence, particularly in the morning. What’s a few raindrops when you get a rainbow in exchange?

De Coal Pot

Yesterday we went off in search of authentic Caribbean cuisine. Our search led us to de Coal Pot, a nifty little restaurant near the Cruz Bay harbor that serves the spicy Caribbean food you crave. Given the enormous portions they serve, if you go there expect a long, tasty, relaxing feast.

I got the curried chicken, which came with three — 3! — sides. I went for the spicy rice and peas, fried plantains, and french fries, and ended up needing a take-home box for the plantains. The curried chicken had that rich curry flavor and was served bone-in, so it had extra flavor and super-moist texture. It was wonderful. Because of the bones, deft knife and fork work was required to extricate the meat, which then paired perfectly with the peas and rice. I shoveled in great heaping forkfuls, washed down with ice-cold Presidente beer. The french fries were a nice complement, too.

Our group’s orders included curried goat, which drew raves, a grouper sandwich, and several rotis, which are a kind of local wrap. We really liked de Coal Pot, and I’m thinking we’ll find our way back there again before this trip is through. What’s the Caribbean without legit Caribbean food?

The Pelican, Briefly

On our trip to the beach yesterday we sat next to a tree where a pelican nested briefly. He used his long bill to engage in some personal grooming and then peered out over the bay, surveying his domain. A few seconds and several flaps of his wings later and the pelican was off, skimming a few inches above the water and on the lookout for prey.

Rainbow Over St. Thomas

A brief tropical shower delivered an early Christmas present this morning — one of the most distinct rainbows I’ve ever seen in person. It was a beautiful start to a special day, and only we early birds got to see it.