On Birds, Bats, and Mud

Things have been going well here. We're entering the rainy season, so my search for a new (used) car is becoming more and more frantic. Biking in the mud and rain, charming though it may be, is rapidly losing its appeal.

As long as we're on the topic of mud, my roommates and I went to the Old Man Bay Caves in April on our own little spelunking expedition. Julia had been to the caves once before, many moons ago, and knew where to go. Which is more of an issue than you might think - the trailhead is slightly beyond the last speed limit sign before a certain dive bar on the way to Tequila Point, hidden in some overgrown bushes. Unless you know precisely where to look, you will easily miss the trail. The trail itself is actually rather poorly maintained, and there were some areas where we just hoped we were following some kind of path.

And now we get to a lesson on Arrecife geography and geology. The island is an ancient volcano that has eroded down so it is virtually flat - so flat, in fact, that the highest point on the island is the landfill, Mount Trashmore (but that's an issue for another post). Underwater, however, the volcanic mountain remains very steep. If you motor a few hundred yards out from shore, you'll see a line of buoys that mark various dive sites in about 100 feet of water. A few hundred yards beyond that, the water reaches depths of 6-7,000 feet. Between our island and Jamaica, you'll find the deepest point in the Caribbean, at 25,216 feet.

Over thousands of years, as sea levels have risen and fallen, corals have been growing in the relatively shallow seas immediately surrounding the island. These limestone deposits, once dead and dried, are called Beach Rock by most, though islanders have taken to calling it Ironshore. One way or the other, the geology of the island affects life here in many ways - graves are above ground, cellars and basements are unheard of, farming is difficult if not impossible, and plants all have shallow root systems, often clinging to bare rock in an effort to gather enough nutrients.


An epiphyte, demonstrating another strategy for dealing with ironshore. These plants grow on top of other plants, either in a parasitic relationship, stealing nutrients right out of their hosts, or in a more passive relationship, riding their hosts as they grow up toward the sunlight.


Leaves of the Maidenplum, a very dangerous plant to be around. If you touch it, you get blisters within the hour that make poison oak look like a mosquito bite.


Red Birch, known locally as the Tourist Tree for its red, peeling skin.



Arrecife Parrots, three of which followed us for much of our trek, offering their very loud opinions on virtually everything we did.


Finally we reached the caves themselves, the largest of which necessitated the use of this rope to lower ourselves into the chasm below.


A couple of bats, the island's only native mammals, and a requisite sighting for any proper spelunking trip.

The largest cave had a network of tunnels running a considerable distance underground. Armed with our trusty flashlights, we followed the thin fishing line as far back as we could go. We spent most of our time pulling ourselves around on our stomachs, crawling army-style. In some areas the clearance was so tight that we had to suck in, "think skinny thoughts", and squeeze between the stalactites and stalagmites blocking our way.


It had rained earlier in the week, so there were quite a few large pools of water. The passages themselves were quite muddy, which made the crawling easier but also meant that we came out of the caves covered head to toe in reddish orange mud.




There were all kinds of beautiful cave formations everywhere - elaborate structures that have been growing and building for thousands of years. I really do want to go back and take more pictures sometime. Very few people on the island know about the caves, and even fewer actually visit them, so we felt like true explorers traveling through uncharted territory. Aside from the fishing line, that is.