We twisted and turned our way up the mountain, the engine on Meg's borrowed Suzuki Escudo screaming and steaming. Gray clouds swooped in over the mountains, but we did not let that deter us. Oregonians are not afraid of rain.



Grenada is a volcanic island, which means there is a scant area of flat land around the perimeter, and everything else in the whole country is built on nearly-perpindicular hillsides. Many houses are built with one-half of their foundation on the ground, the other half balanced on rickety-looking stilts. The road we were driving on headed up straight up the side of the volcano, ascending from sea level to nearly 2,000 feet within a few miles. Grenadians do not believe in guard rails, nor do they believe in making roads wide enough for two vehicles. It was an interesting drive. Meg screamed a lot.

At the top, we found ourselves walking through those clouds of mist. We stopped at Lake Etang and tried to feed the mona monkeys who lurk in the jungle, but it was rainy and they didn't grace us with their presence. This did not bother me, because I knew it was all a ploy on Meg's part to coax a monkey onto my shoulder, or perhaps my head. I wanted nothing to do with a monkey on my shoulder, where it could use its freakish little fingers to pull my hair or perhaps gouge my eyes out, so I did not mind the lack of monkeys. But I digress.

We parked the faithful little Escudo, paid our money to the man behind the counter of the little house at the trail-head , grabbed walking sticks from the stash outside the door, and started the hike.


To get to the trail, first we followed a dirt road through a little valley which seemed to be one of Grenada's many abandoned plantations-turned subsistence farms. There were several one-room shacks dotted alongside the road, with signs bearing slogans like: "Back off! Bad news! Head off!" I considered taking a picture of the signs, but I was afraid a machete-wielding Grenadian farmer would come charging out and take my head off, so I stayed on the road and kept my camera at my side.




As we entered the jungle portion of the trek, we found that rain had turned the trail to muck. Thick, orange-ish, slippery soup. The very muddiest mud you could imagine. This would not be such a big deal, were it not that the trail was nearly vertical and studded with large rocks.



Meg and Eric were both wearing hiking sandals. I had decided against Meg's advice to purchase Teva-type sandals for the trip, because I didn't think I'd ever wear them once I was back in Oregon, and I'm cheap. I was wearing Keds with zero tread on the soles. And I am not known for my physical agility and grace.

Needless to say, I picked my way down the trail gingerly, sure at every moment that one wrong step would send me sliding straight on down.



To be continued....