Rugged Dominica worth the ruined sneakers

January 18, 2009|David Holahan, Globe Correspondent

ROSEAU, Dominica - On the knife-edge trail that leads down to the Valley of Desolation and Boiling Lake, nearly 3,000 feet above sea level, Peter Green, our guide, turned and cautioned, "Walk on the left side; the right side is suicide."

After three hours of roller-coaster trekking into the heart of tropical greenness, my 58-year-old knees, one minus meaningful cartilage, were on fire, and we were about out of water. I tried to recall how much this daylong torture cost, but my mind was blank ($60.50 per person, plus tip, it turns out).

When I observed that this was one tough slog and that my mud-encrusted sneakers were ruined, Green smiled and said, "This is Dominica." He was quick to point out that if I looked up from my footwear I could see the Atlantic Ocean and Martinique in one direction, and the Caribbean Sea in the other. Dominica (pronounced dom-ah-NEE-ka), not to be confused with the Dominican Republic to the northwest, is nestled in the Lesser Antilles, between Martinique and Guadeloupe. It sits astride two clashing tectonic plates, which explains why an island a bit larger than Martha's Vineyard has mountains that approach 5,000 feet.

Ironically, the Valley of Desolation would save me from burgeoning self-pity. Its sulfurous odor and billowing steam advertised it for miles but failed to prepare us for the landscape we would traverse: spitting hot springs, steaming rivulets, and boiling puddles of chalky, gray-blue, magma-heated water. We were inside one of the volcanoes that gave birth to Dominica 26 million years ago.

Technically dormant, this caldera hadn't had a big eruption since 1880, although Green noted as we passed a seismograph beside the trail that there had been an "episode" in 1995. An earthquake the previous summer had caused more than $500,000 in property damage.

Boiling Lake awaited a mere 15 minutes up the trail. The lake and the trail leading to it are in the Morne Trois Pitons National Park, one of the island's many protected areas. The 17,000-acre reserve is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, the only such designation in the eastern Caribbean. As we marched, Green recounted the gruesome tale of the guide who fell into the lake trying to retrieve a client's camera. When we reached our destination none of us went anywhere close to the edge, but the roiling waters 50 feet below were visible from a safe distance.

We ate in silence until Green launched into a series of jokes that brightened our mood. On the less strenuous way back, we luxuriated in the rapids of a heated stream and drank from a cool mountain spring.

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