Carriacou and Petite Martinique feel like they exist in a world almost entirely on their own terms, and where little changes or disturbs the harmony of a simple and uncomplicated way of life.
I go there whenever I can, often in June—the tail end of the peak holiday season—to hike the forest and coastal trails, or immerse myself in a cultural heritage that’s as old as the first American settlers. of the island and with roots as diverse as Scottish Boat Builders and enslaved Africans.
My last visit included the fascinating carnival celebrations and the unique tradition of Shakespeare Mas. Here I am again, ready to roam.
At the dry edges of the woods, something stirs. Goats. Or are they sheep? I’m never sure. They take to the dirt bar in numbers, blowing loudly at this lone hiker who has disturbed their dawn feed.
My hair is still wet from the sea, black volcanic sand still trapped in my shoes. I went for a swim at first light in the calm waters of Anse La Roche Bay – just a 20-minute detour from the main track.
I’m walking around the top this morning, from Bogles on the west coast to Windward on the east. It’s a two-hour drive that skirts the fringes of Carriacou High North National Park, whose main attraction is the aptly named High North Nature Trail, a two-mile forest walk to the highest point. of the island (955 feet), where there is a splendid view. of the southern Grenadines.
Continuing along the northern coast, I reach the Petit Carenage. Here, a short drive through L’Apelle Mangrove, a protected area for migratory waterfowl, takes me to one of my favorite Caribbean beaches.
It’s a long stretch of deep white sand, desolate and beautiful, with a rusting ship sitting defiantly against the shoreline, and a shallow coral formation stretching out into distant breaks around the northeast tip of Carriacou , this attractive reef island.
Across the water are the islands of Union, Mayreau, Petit St Vincent and Petite Martinique.
The I reached the sleepy boat building community of Windward just in time for a trip I had planned – a little private launch to share with the island’s doctor, who is heading to Petite Martinique for his weekly surgery .
It’s an easy 20-minute crossing and we chat about the boat-building tradition of the two islands and his view that it’s in decline, with young people choosing instead to make a living from commercial tuna fishing.
I remembered being on Windward for two boat launch ceremonies in the past, when traditional Carriacou sloops were celebrated with rum whips, oil cooked over open fires and boat singing. And I hoped that all was not lost.
At Sanchez, where we land, I’m relieved to see two wooden fishing boats under construction on the shore, and further along the coast road, I see a half-built wooden skiff in a barren garden next to an old cinder block truck. with the rear wheels missing. Two young men come out of a house and salute with a wrench and hammer before starting their repair and construction work.
I walk for an hour, covering the entire length of the one-lane road that connects the residential community of Madame Pierre with the wild areas of En Haut.
Beyond this, there is a dirt track that continues around the far side of the island and up to Piton Peak (740 feet), Petite Martinique’s only conical peak.
I sit on the short, dry grass at remote Kendace Point with only sheep, or perhaps goats, for company and enjoy the views through the Saharan dust haze to Carriacou.
After a couple of hours, the doctor is finished and we board the departure for Windward, where I catch a bus to Hillsborough, the main town of Carriacou.
Cruising along Main Street, I see if much has changed, but everything seems to be the same as the last time I was here, when I was plastered with paint dust and motor oil with scratches on the upside down J’. I grab a mango juice to go from Kayak Cafe on Main Street and walk south out of town along an empty beach.
About a mile out of town, the paved road ends at Lauriston Airport. I walk along the beach on a shipwreck and look for a trail through the mangroves. It’s still there and well beaten.
This 15-minute trail runs conveniently along Lauriston Point, joining Hillsborough Bay with L’Esterre Bay and Paradise Beach – arguably Grenada’s most beautiful stretch of sand. I emerge from the mangroves and splash through the shallows at the Wood Bar, where I order lambie and beer and wait for the sunset.
The next morning, along the high central ridge of the island, I stop at the ruins of Belair Windmill before setting off on a hill track through the Limlair estate towards the Atlantic coast.
The mill is one of several that were built from local stone and lime mortar in the wind-exposed areas of Carriacou. They once housed machinery to process the sugar cane that was grown and harvested by the estate’s slave laborers.
Limlair’s contemporary estate is part cultivated, part waste. Sheep and goats roam freely. I had heard that farmers who cannot afford an increasing number of goats simply let them loose to fend for themselves.
I meet many of these sheepish vagabonds on my hour-long walk to the rugged shore, where the ocean wears away the sargassum-covered tombstones of Tibeau’s eerily deserted cemetery.
Nearby is the “Ningo” Indigo Well, a large stone cistern that was built by enslaved people and used to produce dye from the crops of indigo plants that grew on the Limlair estate. The mordant used in the dyeing process—probably calcium hydroxide, made from lime—is said to have caused enslaved workers significant health problems.
The mile-long coastal road from Bay à L’Eau to Mount Pleasant is unpaved. Before every general election, there is a flurry of activity suggesting its long-awaited overhaul, then little happens. But the goats and sheep don’t seem to mind.
Reaching Grand Bay, where the road turns inland at Top Hill, I continue along a rough coastal path to a region called Sabazan. Along the ever-eroding sandbanks, American pottery artifacts pour from the earth by the hundreds.
I examine some fragments of Cayo pottery from what was probably a pre-Columbian Middle Earth that now mingles with the discarded flotsam of the 21st century. Strangely, this site seems to have no official recognition or protection and I wonder how long it will survive.
Sabazan’s coastline is remote and beautiful with sweeping views from Breteche Bay to uninhabited Saline Island and White Island.
Passing the ruins of the former L Rose & Co lime works in Dumfries, I walked a further mile across the rugged, boulder-strewn landscape of Black Bay to the small village of Belmont.
Climbing a patch of grass and the confused looks of grazing sheep or goats, I take the main road to the village of Harvey Vale on Tyrell Bay.
The wide natural anchorage is packed with boats at anchor and the Osprey ferry is preparing to depart for St George’s. Yachts, rediscovering their land legs, browse the beach huts for fresh fruit, while others load the tires with fuel and supplies.
Under the shade of a sprawling almond tree, I sip a cold Queen Lambie beer and plan my next island getaway.
