After four days in Saba ("SAY-buh"), it's hard to say whether we are more impressed by what's above the ground or what's under the water. Dizzyingly steep roads lead to trails through prehistoric-looking rainforest; small, neat towns perch on the hillsides, and flowers bloom in profusion among the whitewashed, red-roofed houses. Off the coast, the snorkeling and scuba diving is simply stunning. It's the most spectacular island we've seen yet.
With its base in the waves and its top in the clouds, Saba looks like a cartoon version of a South Seas volcano. We could see it thirty miles off as we rounded the corner of St. Martin and put up our sails. As we gently skidded towards it on light winds and easy seas, it seemed to get no closer. Just bigger, and sharper, and greener, and steeper. Saba's essentially a mostly-submarine mountain with its tip poking out of the water in a space about two miles across and two miles long. What it lacks in area it makes up in volume; the high point, Mt. Scenery, is almost 3000 feet above sea level, and most of the shoreline is pretty much vertical. We watched a small plane land on the airstrip, which looked to be the only flat place on the whole island.
Just before we passed between the island and offlying Diamond Rock, a pinnacle 80 feet high above the water and an equal size below, we hooked a tuna. We were happy to pull our next few days' worth of meals aboard, since all of Saba's waters are a protected marine park.
There
are no beaches, and no harbors to speak of. There's not even really a
lee side, since the wind swirls and accelerates around the cliffs,
giving Saba's west side gusty winds from various directions. The
Marine Park has placed several moorings in Ladder Bay and Wells Bay
for visiting yachts, but after one night of wild swinging, rolling in
the swell, and bashing into the mooring with sudden direction changes
(nothing like a big hunk of plastic banging on the hull right next to
your pillow to wake you up in a hurry), we moved close in to shore in
Well's Bay, setting a stern anchor (our "new" anchor from Culebrita)
to keep us pointed more or less into the light swell. Saba has a bad
reputation as an uncomfortable anchorage, but we suspect that part of
that's because the moorings are way out on the exposed edge of the
bays and in water too deep to set a stern anchor, and most people
would rather pick up a free mooring than deal with anchoring. Part of
it, too, is that the winter months, when most cruisers are plying
these waters, are subject to north swells from cold fronts east of
the Bahamas, and big swells would make even our close-in anchorage
untenable. But we've got early-summer conditions, moderate to light
tradewinds and negligible swell, we're tucked in behind Torren's
Point, and we're as comfy as can be.
We dinghied around the corner to Fort Point to check in, which was an adventure I'd just as soon not repeat. The big waves which hit us as soon as we left the island's lee were a little too exciting for a small open boat. But we maneuvered into the small artificial harbor and tied up at the dinghy dock, where for the first time since leaving the Bahamas we left the dink unlocked. (Saba has almost no crime, and the guidebook claims the prison cells are only used as hotel overflow space.) We took care of formalities at the Saba Deep dive shop, as the harbormaster was on his lunch hour. For our $21, we not only got permission to stay, but also a map to diving and snorkel sites, and a hiking map as well. This second map we put to use immediately.
Our first hike began with a slog up the 20% grade of the concrete road to the town of Bottom, which despite its name is sort of in the middle part of the island, vertically speaking. The road switchbacks its way up the steep and dry desert valley between Fort Bay and Bottom like a coiled anaconda. Low rock walls on either side serve as combination guardrails and rain gutters, but don't deter the ubiquitous goats from wandering across. On the other side of the small town we turned off onto the stone steps of the Crispeen Track.
Bottom
marked a change in ecosystem, from the scrub desert of the lower
elevations to tropical rainforest. We had gotten a late start, and
were thankful for the shade cast by the profusion of greenery on the
steep hillside as we labored up the steps. It was hard enough work
climbing them; we couldn't even begin to imagine the labor involved
in making them. Eventually we joined up with the main Mount Scenery
trail (1064 steps from the town of Windwardside) where we turned
uphill on yet more steps. Every switchback brought a view, so
naturally we had to pause frequently and gaze out to sea. You'd think
we'd be in better shape after having recently climbed
the highest peak in the Antilles! Then again, that was over a
month ago. One problem with cruising is that although it's a more
active lifestyle than that of a typical sedentary office-job
American, it's difficult to get regular exercise and to stay in good
shape.
At the mountain's summit was a depression which we fancied was the caldera of this extinct volcano, densely filled with tree palms, elephant ears, vines, mosses, and other greenery. This was the cloud level, and mist filtered across on the wind, cooling us after the exertion of the climb and giving the place a distinctly prehistoric air. We wouldn't have been surprised if a dinosaur had lumbered out of the thicket. Many of the taller trees were only trunks, as they had been denuded and killed two years ago by Hurricane Lenny's 180-mph winds, but the rest of the plants showed no sign of damage. At the highest point reachable without a machete, the clouds completely closed us in, but while we rested on a rock they thinned enough to show us the town of Windwardside, below us to the east. We descended the main trail all the way to Windwardside, where we hitchhiked back to Fort Bay.
Another afternoon we beached the dinghy on the rounded rocks at the base of a huge flight of stone and concrete steps called "The Ladder", which used to be the only way goods were brought to the island. Britt counted 479 steps; tough going, but in my mind better than dinghying through the big waves to Fort Bay. Eventually we got to Bottom, where we tried to hitchhike to Windwardside, but people must have been feeling less friendly this day, because we ended up walking nearly all the way there. After lunch at a restaurant there, we continued on to Hell's Gate (lovely name for a town!) and the trailhead for the Sandy Cruz trail. This trail winds along the north side of Mt. Scenery and back to Bottom, so we essentially circumnavigated Saba. Again, it was a beautiful trail through a verdant rainforest. Birdsong and butterflies accompanied us, and we saw countless lizards and five (harmless) snakes. The trail ended just above an elegant and completely deserted resort hotel in the hills above Bottom.
Marine park rules prohibit independent diving, so we signed up with Saba Deep for a few jolts of compressed air. Diving is not a cheap sport at the best of times, but Mike, the owner, gave us a good deal and was incredibly helpful and friendly. Best of all, the dive boat picked us up from our boat each morning, and dropped us off after the dive.
We decided to do a single dive each day to spread things out. The first two days we dove the deep pinnacles that Saba's famous for among divers. They were interesting (particularly the skinny "Eye of the Needle"), but at those depths we only had 20 minutes or so of bottom time. The third day we did a really fantastic dive on a sort of small underwater mountain. Its sheer sides were covered with incredibly colored corals and sponges, and we saw an amazing variety of fish, including a juvenile spotted drum (a really weird looking fish) and a school of Atlantic spadefish, which we'd only seen once last year and not at all up to now this year.
But
the wildest terrain we saw snorkeling. On the afternoons we weren't
hiking, we went snorkeling around Torren's Point, which turned out to
be riddled with tunnels and caves. Some were up on dry land, some
were completely underwater, and some, like Thunderball
Cave in the Bahamas, were half-and-half. The water in this area
was perfectly clear, unlike the plankton-thick water out at the dive
sites, and the sun slanting through the openings lent a luminous
aquamarine glow to the water below. One underwater tunnel emerged in
a shallow pool surrounded by rocks, a hidden grotto where we rested
before swimming back through. In the tunnel's interior swam a large
school of glassy sweepers, coppery teardrop-shaped fish which are
beautiful to watch. A longer tunnel had both entrance and exit below
the surface, but broke into an open cavern about a quarter of the way
in. After checking both ends thoroughly, we swam into the cave, then
nerved up for the big swim the rest of the way through. Fortunately,
chasing fish with spears is good training, and we've both gotten
proficient at making a lungful of air last a long time!
In between our forays into the labyrinth, we watched the sea life around us. The steep cliffs of Saba dump lots of rocks into the water (in fact, we heard and saw rockfall every evening from our anchorage). Big boulders line the edges of the coves, and the boulders that have been submerged for a long time have corals and sponges growing on them. Fish swim in and out of the maze of rocks, and we followed them. We saw a bunch of large schoolmaster snappers, and lots of cowfish and trunkfish. We even saw several turtles, including one bold guy who swam practically right up to us to say hello.
Mountains, underwater pinnacles, caves, rainforest, coral gardens, friendly people, friendly turtles -- this island has it all. (Except for a movie theater. Or an ATM.) It was a fun visit. But it's time to move on.
