story by K e n Mc A l pin e photos by Je n Ju d ge

The hiker’s
view from
Guana Island.

virgin
territory
the Br itish Virgin Isl a nds seem lik e
a l a n d u n to t h emselv es — w h en seen,
th at is , by l a nd a nd not by se a .

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 ∏ he summit arrives quickly. at the
end of my 800-yard climb up a rutted
trail, I take a last step onto a wooden plat-
form that rises above the forest. Here the
British Virgin Islands are mine alone, a
heady 360-degree kingdom of stepping stones and foamy
reefs. Atop Gorda Peak, Virgin Gorda’s 1,370-foot summit,
the sea breeze strums the canopy to produce creaking as
soothing as a rocking chair’s. In the distance, I see thumbnail-
sized sailboats ply across blue butter, their passengers oblivi-
ous to the panorama before me. Down on the water, they’ll
never be able to see the BVI like I do right now.
Many of the visitors who arrive here explore the New vistas open
up while hitting
BVI on sailing charters. They flit among the princi- Tortola’s roads
pal islands — Tortola, Anegada and Virgin Gorda — with Moviene
as well as more than 50 other islands, cays and rocks ­Fahie (right),
hiking up Sage
huddled close together. I can’t look to any horizon Mountain (below)
without white sails reminding me of an explosion and walking across
in a handkerchief factory. But as traveled as the BVI nearby Guana
Island (opposite).
are by sea, much remains hidden on land.
My love for the sea is as deep as anyone’s, but I know
that you can miss things from the water. That includes stable
ground and a restroom that doesn’t announce your intentions
to the world, yes, but also fairy forests in the gloaming, hidden
swimming holes and a cab driver’s patois of life advice. I also
know it is a mistake to think you know anything well — even
if it’s a scattering of Caribbean islands — for life is rife with
surprises, and often all it takes is a fresh path to unveil them.
So damn the wind and stow the spinnaker! I came to the
BVI for the journey inward, away from countless moorings,
marinas and beaches and into the unseen places.
The first thing I discovered on arriving at Tortola’s airport
was Moviene Fahie. This local guide would be my cab driver
rather than ship captain. She swept up my heavy duffel bag
into her taxi as if it were a coconut. On the drive toward the
Sugar Mill Hotel on the north shore of Apple Bay, the smell
of the sea blew through my open window. We passed a small
beachfront bar, Bomba’s Surfside Shack. It looked as if it had
been assembled from flotsam that had washed ashore, had
collapsed once or twice and been reassembled by patrons after British
happy hour. What caught my attention was a pair of industrial- Virgin V irg in
Islands G orda
sized panties waving in the breeze. “Bomba’s — crazy place,” Guana

Moviene said in her English-Creole accent. She talked of the

bar’s infamous psychoactive mushroom tea. “If you have one tortola

of those drinks, you can walk to Aruba.” Watching me in the

rear view mirror, she wagged a finger: “Stick to rum.”
The following morning Moviene picked me up at the
hotel at 8 sharp, and off we went. Since my aim was to explore
Tortola’s interior, that’s where we headed, climbing narrow
roads twisting high into the sky, hemmed in by wandering
goats and scrubby brush. We drove through the Fahie Hill � Plan your trip, p. 111

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 community, making our way slowly past a series of murals
painted on a concrete wall beside the road.
“Look at the paintings,” Moviene commanded.
One Fahie Hill mural shows men loading bags of sand onto
burros, families terracing the land for crops and a boy ushering
cows through a chute of wood fencing. Moviene nodded to
this last painting. “Have to get the tit off,” she said.
I stared at the painting, feeling great pity for the cows.
Finally it dawned on me: “They’re getting the ticks off.”
“You must be a farm-ah!” Moviene said, laughing.
Just down the road we stopped at another mural, this one
tucked inside a breezy open-air pavilion facing the distant
sea. The mural depicted a lovely, long-ago scene of the com-
munity gathered upon a common green shaded by great trees
and backed by a handkerchief-less sea, people socializing the
way they did before we withdrew into our own narrow lives.
Adults gossiped; children and music played. Finished admiring
the mural, I sat on an adjacent bench and admired the current
scene. A knot of men played cards in the shade of a great tree.
Three elderly women dressed in their Sunday finery on this
Friday carried on an animated conversation, possibly about
the gambling men. I took it all in, happy to be a landlubber.
For several days Moviene showed me around Tortola. One
afternoon she dropped me off in Road Town, the capital of
the BVI. Its streets were crowded, and people spilled from
banks, offices and shops. Everywhere people hus-
Waterfront get-
aways such as the tled about, as people in cities do, but many of them
Sugar Mill Hotel smiled at each other and exchanged greetings.
(above and op- I am not a fan of stopping strangers on the
posite, top left) and
the Bitter End Yacht street, but I had to know why everyone was so cor-
Club (opposite) are dial. I stopped the friendliest man I saw and asked
ideal for luxuriating him. He smiled at me with a shadow of pity. “You
while exploring the
BVI by land. live in the other world,” he said. “We live in this.”
When I returned to the car, Moviene was selling
a bag of sweet potatoes through the car window. Farming pro-
vides Moviene more of a living than escorting the rare trav-
eler who, like me, wants to actually drive around. Either way,
though, her focus was on the land. “You cannot just put plants
in the ground,” she told me. “They need to be nurtured.”
On my third day, Moviene delivered me to Tortola’s Sage
Mountain National Park, home to the BVI’s highest point at
1,716 feet. The sole sign pointing the way to the summit looks
For the terra-firma as if it hosted a buffet for termites — all the better to keep this

adventurer, the BVI can route to one’s self. It’s a wonderful hike, affording cloistered
rainforest serenity and, on clear days, seascapes of pale blue.

be mildly maddening.
Seeing a great scattering
of islands, you wonder,
Unfortunately, this particular day was not clear; foggy cloud
banks ran up the slopes, lending Sage Mountain a fetching,
Jurassic Park air. The hiking was still enjoyable. Thick, high-
canopied forest closed about me in a humid embrace, and
leaves fell with an entrancing slowness that, like many things

“Is it better over there?” in the BVI, snubbed the world’s rush. When I reached the
highest ground in all the land, it was marked only by two

72
 Even on an inland
exploration, the sea
and sailboats are
always close by, like
these at the Bitter
End Yacht Club on
Virgin Gorda.

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army-green benches and the wind applauding in the trees.
The only other people I saw here were two lovers who clearly
expected no one else to come along. When I mentioned the
lovers back at the car, Moviene clucked approvingly: “One
cent can’t jingle alone. Two cents in the bag jingle.”
For the terra-firma adventurer, the BVI can be mildly
maddening. Every time you top a rise like Sage Mountain’s,
a great scattering of islands appears, and human nature being
what it is, you wonder, “Is it better over there?”
Not better, but always different. Moviene had
shown me what she could on Tortola. She deposited Clockwise from
me at Trellis Bay Marina, but not before watching top right: Mount
Healthy National
me walk down the dock and board the proper boat Park and a rum
for the 15-minute ride to Guana Island. distillery on Tor-
I had been told that this privately owned tola offer intimate
sights, as does the
resort island had played host to its share of celeb- private wilderness
rity guests, but what mattered to me was Guana’s of Guana Island.
wilderness renown. Away from the understated
accommodations, which have a cap of about 30 guests at a
time, roughly 65 percent of the 850-acre island has been left
alone. It remains pristine enough that scientists make regular
pilgrimages to the place to study the flora and fauna, though
possibly they might enjoy lolling upon empty beaches and
dining on sautéed yellowtail snapper, too.
Here on Guana, I decided to hike to Chicken Rock, an
outcropping off the northwest point of the island. One of the
guests shook her head adamantly: “Ohhhhh, I wouldn’t go to
Chicken Rock. It’s far too far.” Much easier would have been to
speed across the water on the resort’s 68-foot power yacht.
I had already consulted the trail map; an hour’s hike did
not seem much to see a rock shaped like a chicken. Such
opportunity presents itself once in a lifetime. Whoever said
the adventure is in the journey — maybe it was Moviene —
was very wise. The hike to Chicken Rock was glorious. The
trail rose and fell beneath an understory of tamarind, pisonia,
gumbo-limbo and royal poinciana. Many of the trees sprouted
showy flowers – snow whites, sensual reds and cheery yel-
lows – and even more branches supported epiphytes, the so-
called “air plants” that exist upon the boughs of their host.
Orchids perched everywhere. In the silence, snakes (harm-
less) announced their travels with a dry scratching. One —
thumb-thick, dark and 2 feet long — moved to cross the trail.
When I stood still to watch it pass, it paused to watch me, its
sides inflating and collapsing with implausible delicacy.
I have always had bad luck seeing shapes in rocks, but I will
tell you that Chicken Rock looks exactly like a chicken. It squats
upon dark volcanic rock that will never hatch, on a point that
juts into the Caribbean Sea. Better still, there is a deep pool at
Chicken Rock’s base, a pool open to the sea so that all manner
of fish mill about in its emerald-blue waters. Volcanic ledges
surround the pool, perfect for leaping, arms windmilling, until
your breath turns raspy and your arms and legs go rubbery from

77
 pulling yourself over the algae-coated rocks again and again. At
the near end of the pool the waves have carved a small under- When they asked me how
water cavern 10 feet beneath the surface. Hanging upside down
from the cavern lip into the water, I could see fish schooling in
my walk across the land
the shadows while my body swayed to the pulse of the sea. was, I told them, quite
Boaters could anchor and swim in the pool beneath Chicken
Rock, but they could not hike home, sun low on the horizon, honestly, that it was one
through forest infused with sooty gold. That evening I dined
on breaded rack of lamb with the other Guana guests. When of the best days of my life.
they asked me how my walk across the land was, I told them,
quite honestly, that it was one of the best days of my life.
Those “best days” continued to add up as I ferried from
island to island. I loved the salt-washed commute on the BVI’s
remarkably efficient ferry system; the throbbing of the engines
below deck, the decks themselves piled with boxes of fresh
vegetables, beer, a hubcap. I was so caught up in those details,
I found myself asking repeatedly, “Is this the ferry to Virgin
Gorda?” The locals politely answered again and again.
I eventually boarded that ferry. Virgin Gorda, of course,
is home to the famed Baths, an astonishing jumble of house-
sized granite boulders. The Baths are everybody’s must-see —
on any given afternoon a flotilla of sailboats anchors offshore
and zodiacs buzz in and out from the white-sand beach — but
they are also a paean to the path less-traveled.
I waited until just before sunset, as the light and the sail-
boats both were disappearing. Making my way
While the boul-
ders of the Baths through the granitic maze, the only sound was the
(opposite) are a soft slap and gurgle of water against rock. Crabs
must-see on Virgin scurried for cover, and the incoming surge sent fat
Gorda, it was the
hike to Guana emerald fingers of water lapping over my bare feet.
Island’s Chicken Many visitors don’t venture beyond the Baths,
Rock (left) that on the extreme southwestern tip of Virgin Gorda.
inspired the author
(above) to dive in. I actually wanted to see the island as a whole, and
the best place to do that is, of course, from atop
Gorda Peak, far from shore in the heart of the island. I can
no longer imagine a trip to the BVI without that view. To the
east of Gorda Peak is the famous Bitter End Yacht Club, a
water-sports and sailing mecca for the entire Caribbean,
where the handkerchiefs are out in force.
Granted, many of the paths on the BVI — beaten or oth-
erwise — do lead back to the water. But now I have seen
the paths that lead to inland wonders. Devil’s Bay is not far
from the Baths — less than 15 minutes of boulder-scrabbling
ups and downs. I hiked there to find a tiny 50-yard cusp of
sand pinioned between the famed granite boulders. It was
inhabited only by the mildest breeze.
Adventure does not always announce itself with a shout,
though I did. I yanked off my shirt, whooped
and ran. The Caribbean surged forward in a
islands.com/bvi
frothy rush, and I leapt. The waters cupped �
Follow this route
me firmly and pulled me to the sea. I left my � watch our BVI video
feet and sailed into a world of green. ^ � see Editors’ Picks

78
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Plan Your Trip: BVI

� FLY on American Airlines through Puerto
Rico to Tortola’s airport (EIS). aa.com
� STAY on Tortola at the Sugar Mill Hotel,
which is a restored 17th-century sugar
­plantation on Apple Bay. sugarmillhotel.com
On Virgin Gorda, Mango Bay Resort at
­Mahoe Bay comprises picturesque villas
with great kayaking and snorkeling right
there on the shore. mangobayresort.com
There is no better place in all the BVI for
water play than the Bitter End Yacht Club,
with more than a mile of oceanfront on North
and Statia sounds. Find everything from sail-
ing to fishing, kitesurfing to diving. beyc.com
Little Dix Bay, on the west coast, continues
to define elegance — and tropical drinks. Try
a Cool Cucumber from renowned mixologist
Brian Van Flander. littledixbay.com Guana
Island has 850 acres of luxury amenities and
wonderful wilds. For ultimate privacy, book
the resort’s North Beach Cottage. guana.com
� EAT at Palm’s Delight on Tortola’s Carrot
Bay, serving family-style West Indian dishes
like rotis, pâtés and fish Creole. 284-495-4863
Try Crandall’s Pastry Plus for johnnycakes,
coconut bread and salt fish. 284-494-5156 To
enjoy an authentic British experience while
you’re on Tortola, go for a meal at Pusser’s
Road Town Pub. 284-494-3897 The Rock Café
on Virgin Gorda is famed for Italian dishes
such as spaghetti with lobster. 284-495-5482
­Weekend nights, all manner of local joints
fire up the barbecue for delicious jerk
chicken. The Sugar Mill has a restaurant in
what was once the boiling house for an old
rum distillery (ask for a table in front of the
waterfall). sugarmillhotel.com/restaurant
� GET ACTIVE on Tortola, where surfers head
to Apple Bay, Cane Garden Bay and Josiah’s
Bay. Hike to the top of Sage Mountain, the
BVI’s highest point. Virgin Gorda has Gorda
Peak, with a spectacular view.
� EXPLORE with a day trip to Jost Van Dyke
and Anegada. Meet Foxy’s Bar namesake
Foxy Callwood, raconteur extraordinaire.
Name your hometown, and Foxy will create
an ode to it. foxysbar.com Pop into Sidney’s
Peace and Love, where payment is on the
honor system. Sidney cooks reef lobster over
fire using a secret family recipe. 284-495-9271
� LEARN MORE at bvitourism.com and
islands.com/bvi. — ken mcalpine

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